The hour sat between daylight and lamplight.
As it was Friday, the courtyard thrummed with departure: trunks clattering over cobblestones, horses snorting, and Sexton's iron gates wide open that led to the road outside. A neat row of Elite carriages stood at the front, with their side lamps already lit despite the daylight. By the gate, the Groundlings' coaches filled fast and were waved off unlit—no time and no oil to waste.
Ruelle stepped out with her trunk, dragging it. Kevin and Hailey had already caught the earlier coach, while she had lingered a few minutes too long for her wet dress to dry. She set her trunk at the end of the line and waited.
"Ms. Belmont," came Ezekiel's voice from behind. He stepped forward, his satchel strap resting over his shoulder. "Are you heading home?"
"Yes, Mr. Henley," Ruelle answered softly.
