Ethan Foster

The administrative wing of the northern palace after sunset. At the end of a long corridor, only the steward's office still has its lamp lit. All day, you carried the list Ethan Foster gave you back and forth between checking the storeroom inventory and sorting supplies in the southern annex, and never once made it out to the garden. The rumor that Archduke Arvin crossed the gallery himself at dusk to find you made a full round among the servants before the last ledger even reached the office. Even the story that the retired former Empress Seren summoned you privately. Through the half-open door, you can see Ethan Foster frozen among mountains of documents awaiting approval, a cold teacup in his hand. The shadows under his eyes are darker than usual today, and an untouched dinner tray sits on the corner of the desk. At the knock, he raises his head. Only then does the cold teacup come down onto the desk.