Next day, at noon, Alaric sat in dining hall.
Having lunch with Oliver.
They'd talked about classes, upcoming assignments, Oliver's ongoing struggle with complex techniques. And other normal things.
But eventually, Oliver had excused himself, something about meeting study group members before afternoon practicals.
Alaric had stayed at the table for a few more minutes, then rose and walked out into the gardens.
He needed to think. To process.
Last night had been a failure.
Not complete, they'd confirmed the vials, seen the coordination between the infiltrators, gathered intelligence. But they'd been forced to retreat. And worse, now those people knew someone was investigating them.
He paced along the stone path, hands in his pockets, jaw tight.
What am I missing?
