On the great bed, Constantine Zeno lay sleeping; body still as though rigor mortis had set in and only the faint rise and fall of his chest with every shallow breath spoke otherwise; that and the flicker of movement beneath his eyelids.

The past few weeks had been a burden on the witch, he'd struggled against the ingrained qualities that had driven him always to be the slacker while his brother sought achievement. Irene Zeno had placed little expectation on Constantine and he'd delivered nothing to inspire her to treat him otherwise. Now that the quest to save his twin had borne fruit, sleep had finally become a relief and not a distraction his body craved and he sternly denied. Yet, the quest still weighed on his mind, he was still in body but his mind still raced and so Constantine dreamed.