Morning crept into Valerian's room with a quietness akin to the flutter of a shy bird's wing. The golden light carved its way through the white linen curtains, casting a soft gleam on the cold stone floor. A faint warmth settled over his face, but he did not move.
He remained lying down, his eyes half-open, staring at the ceiling adorned with dark wooden beams, breathing slowly as if trying to decide whether this day was worth living. His body was still exhausted, not only from physical fatigue but from the weight that settled in his chest like an immovable rock.
A moment passed before he heard a light knock on the door, followed by a familiar voice:
"Sir, I've brought breakfast. May I come in?"
Valerian didn't answer immediately. He wanted to remain in that void, between sleep and wakefulness, where pain wasn't yet clear and where regret hadn't begun to scream after full awakening. But eventually, he sighed and said in a hoarse voice:
"Come in, Carlos."
