A prison for his thoughts

"Let's meet later tonight," Sullivan said, his voice low but firm.

Harris gave a nod of agreement before turning to head down the stairs to his own room. Sullivan watched him leave, then quietly entered his own room, not expecting what he saw next.

Dahlia was awake, sitting on the bed with her head resting against one of the poles of the four-poster bed. Her legs dangled lazily off the side, swinging slightly as if lost in thought. Her gaze was distant, and the usual sparkle in her eyes was replaced by a strange heaviness.

Sullivan raised an eyebrow. "You're awake," he noted, closing the door behind him softly.

Dahlia glanced at him, her expression a mix of curiosity and unease. "Where were you?" she asked, her voice quiet but direct.

"I went out for a stroll," Sullivan replied casually, moving closer to her. "But what about you? You look...gloomy. What's on your mind?"