The room still smelled faintly of Jonas—of damp earth and travel dust, of leather and ash. An Hour had passed since he'd slipped away, but I couldn't stop replaying the way he had looked at me. Too careful. Too measured.
He had asked about my life here, but not in the way a friend asks. His gaze had darted to the corners, the door, the windows, like he was memorizing every shadow. Even his clothes unsettled me. Jonas had never been one for heavy cloaks or gloves, yet tonight he had worn both, as though concealing something.
I had told myself I was imagining things, that my mind was reaching for suspicion because everything in this place already felt dangerous. But now…
A sudden roar of voices tore me from my thoughts. Shouts echoed through the hallway, sharp and panicked. The floor vibrated faintly beneath my feet as boots pounded against stone.
My breath caught.
Something was wrong.
