Aria continued to lie motionless on the bed, even as the soft creak of the door opening reached her ears. The careful sound of footsteps followed, light enough that she knew it could only be Rymora.
A soft rustle whispered beside her as something—likely a piece of paper—was placed down. Still, Aria didn't move, arms folded tight around her waist, her eyes stubbornly shut.
Her heart hammered wildly in her chest, a sharp reminder of the fear curling inside her at the thought of Zyren bursting through the door at any second. She wasn't alone in her dread; Rymora's face looked tight and sickly pale, like she'd swallowed something rotten, even as she hovered quietly near the bed.
Time dragged by at an excruciating crawl, far slower than Aria could bear, until the golden rays of sunlight piercing through the window slowly disappeared.
Flickering her eyes open, she found night had fallen. But there was no comfort in the dark; Aria knew she was only delaying the inevitable.
