The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows over Govean's winding paths and crooked rooftops. Commander Valerie's knights had settled into their makeshift encampment, their armour gleaming faintly under the last rays of sunlight. Some were tightening leather straps on saddles, others sharpening blades against whetstones, the steady rhythm echoing through the cooling air. A few huddled around small fires, sharing rations and murmuring in low voices about the strange events unfolding earlier.
The building that once held the mysterious prisoner now stood silent and empty, its iron-barred windows creaking slightly in the evening breeze. Whatever traces of blood and viscera had stained its stone floors were scrubbed away, leaving only the cold, sterile scent of lye in its wake. The door hung slightly ajar, the interior hollow and shadowed, almost as if daring someone to step inside and confront whatever secrets still lingered there.
