Selis peeked around the corner and spotted him: the next stationed guard. He stood rigid by the carved double-doors—muscular, bored, and humming an awful lumberjack tune.
One hand on his spear, the other picking at a splinter in his gauntlet. Clearly, he was not expecting someone to burst through his quiet on-duty boredom.
Selis swallowed. "Alright, big fella. Time to be friendly . . . or incapacitatingly not."
She drew a breath, straightened her shoulders, and marched forward like a confident tourist in the wrong country—completely sure she belonged here.
A sudden CLATTER from behind her—likely a wet rat slipping off a pipe—made her heart leap. The guard snapped his head around.
That was her cue.
