Clay was in his usual place in the garden, crouched low near the edge where the flower bushes curved neatly around the fountain. It was where he was expected to be, where he was supposed to blend in. As a zygone, the last thing he wanted was attention—especially inside the castle walls. Drawing eyes, even accidentally, could unravel everything.
Inside the castle, he was weaker than usual. He couldn't feed like he normally would. His strength was limited, and the energy inside him was thinning more than he liked to admit. The main reason he had been chosen for this role in the first place was because of his control—how long he could go without feeding. That kind of restraint wasn't common in his kind.
Clay even went ahead to hum a tune under his breath as he continued clipping at the flower bush ensuring that the shrubs in its entirety was completely even.
