He rubbed his temples, caught in an endless loop of trying to convince himself and failing. The rain came down in a sudden, noisy burst, typical of a spring day that couldn’t decide between warmth and chill. It was anything but gentle, with a coldness that seeped into your bones. Still, his heart, hard as it was, couldn’t stand the thought of her getting soaked.
"Bring her in," he murmured softly.
"Yes, sir," replied the servant, who then went to fetch Eliza into the manor. Dillon didn’t bother greeting her himself.
She was alright, though her hair was a bit damp from the rain. Her thick coat had shielded her from the worst of it.
"Where's he at?" she asked, anxious to see him.
The servant gestured upstairs. "The master’s on the second floor. You can head up."
"Thanks," she said, quickening her pace, almost breaking into a run as she climbed the stairs.
At the end of the hallway, a door was slightly ajar. Her heart was pounding, a mix of nerves, excitement, and the joy of a reunion she’d imagined a thousand times over.
She tread softly, pausing at the door to take a couple of deep breaths before gently pushing it open. Inside, a man sat with his back to her, framed by the window. The heavy medieval chair seemed to swallow him whole.
"Casper?" she called gently, her voice a mix of tenderness and caution.
He didn’t respond, didn’t even flinch.
She bit her lip but kept moving closer, her steps slow and deliberate. "Casper, is that you?" This time, her voice carried more urgency and hope.
Finally, she was behind him, close enough to feel the rhythm of his breathing. Still, he gave no sign of acknowledging her.
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