Appearing back in his bathroom, Ethan immediately caught a whiff of his own sweat, and it hit him just how badly he needed a shower. The grime of the day clung to his skin, sticky and uncomfortable. With a groan, he peeled off his clothes and stepped into the steamy cascade of water. The moment the hot droplets hit his sore muscles, he let out a deep sigh of relief.
God, that feels good, he thought, leaning into the spray, letting it wash away the sweat, fatigue, and strain from training with Arthur. His legs still ached faintly, a dull burn reminding him this was just day one.
After drying off and changing into loose-fitting sleepwear—a soft, dark shirt and lightweight pants—he walked out of the bathroom. His eyes scanned the room, half-expecting something to be out of place. But everything was exactly as he'd left it: bed sheets unruffled, books stacked neatly on the desk, and the curtains drawn halfway. It seemed the guards had done their job.
