The room was quiet, save for the faint scratch of a quill against parchment and the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.
He was losing his mind. No— he had lost his mind.
Thorne's hand tightened around the quill, the ink pooling just slightly at the tip as he signed the same line for the third time, realizing too late that it was the wrong document.
Again.
He exhaled sharply, tossing the quill down with enough force that ink splattered across the table, streaking over royal crests and signatures alike.
It wasn't the first mistake he had made today. Not even the fifth.
He dragged his hand over his face, eyes squeezed shut. The image burned behind his eyes—the way Levi's coat draped over her shoulders, the way he held her when she almost fell. The way she walked beside him, quietly.
He saw it. It was burned into his mind, never really leaving.
