Inquiry

Only when Karl returned and lay down beside her again, feeling his much greater body heat seep through the bedding and smelling the mixture of leather, dust, sweat, and a somewhat rough yet exceptionally steady scent unique to a mature man did her suspended heart seem to find an anchor and slowly settle back into place.

Even though he was travel-worn and far from clean, that tangible presence made her feel more at ease than any incense could.

Without realizing it, she seemed to have grown accustomed to, and even... begun relying on, Karl's presence. That dependence frightened her.

"Henry..." she silently called out in her heart to that distant name, whose face had grown somewhat blurred, and an overwhelming sense of guilt surged through her like a tide.

She felt that she had betrayed the childhood bond they shared, betrayed the faint hope of waiting for Henry to return and rekindle their relationship.

Her reliance on the sense of security brought by the person beside her clashed violently with her loyalty and guilt toward her old love far away—two completely opposite emotions tearing at her heart.

In the end, extreme mental exhaustion overcame everything. Amid that torment of contradictory pain, her consciousness gradually blurred, her breathing grew slow and deep, and she fell into an uneasy sleep.

After a long silence, Karl seemed to sense the change in the breathing of the person beside him as well.

He let out a soft sigh, so faint it was almost inaudible, blending into the heavy night.

He, too, set aside all his tangled thoughts. Only when the horizon began to pale did his body's extreme exhaustion finally force him to close his eyes and sleep.

The next day, when Karl awoke from his deep sleep, the sunlight outside the window was