"I remember everything."
The man beside Selara did not relax, but he had already lost the right to delay her. The guard pressed his palm to the ward plate, and a slow pulse rolled through the black glass frame, touching each symbol in sequence before the lock opened with a soft internal click. The sound was small, almost polite, and that alone tightened Selara's jaw. Places hiding decent work rarely required this much ceremony before a door.
The door swung inward, and the chamber beyond struck her first through its elegance. That was the first insult. Selara had expected guilt to leave some mark on the room - a careless stain, a sourness in the air, an ugly tool abandoned where someone should have hidden it. Instead, the chamber gleamed with expensive restraint.
