Restless. Anxious. Agitated.
Lucius prowled through the palace halls, his movements slow, deliberate—like a predator circling unseen prey. For the past hour, he had stalked these corridors lined with flickering lanterns, his gaze sweeping over every passing servant, every noble lost in idle conversation, every fleeting glance exchanged behind his back.
The palace was alive with its usual symphony—the murmurs of hushed discussions, the rustling of skirts brushing against polished floors, the distant clatter of silverware as dinner was served. But none of it mattered. None of it told him what he needed to know.
'There has to be something.'
His gift had never failed him before. Emotions bled into the air like invisible threads, twisting and tangling between those who bore them, latching onto secrets, desires, sins. But now—
Calm. Happy. Flustered.
Useless.
