Aiden did not enter the labyrinth at once.
He marked the position of the blood arc and the scattered gear with three small stones, pressing each one into the dirt so it would stay. Then he turned south and backtracked.
Half a day of steady walking brought him to the nearest waystation—an old stone post the guild kept for high-country crews. The walls were thick, the roof slate, the single door reinforced with iron bands. A clerk sat behind a scarred desk. Two guards stood near the entrance, spears leaning against the wall.
The clerk did not look up when Aiden stepped inside. He kept his eyes on the open ledger and the ink pot beside it.
"Party of four," Aiden said. "Mixed. Last seen heading north toward the labyrinth markers. Signs of ambush. Looting. No bodies. Drag marks into the complex."
The clerk's pen scratched. "Names."
"Korr. Venn. Ressa. Sera."
