Soren arrived at Ayren's chamber half an hour before the appointed time, his boots silent on the polished stone.
The corridor stretched empty in both directions, torches casting long shadows that seemed to reach for him with smoky fingers. No servants bustled past, no pages rushed on errands. Just silence and the weight of House Velrane pressing down from above.
Perfect. Early was better than late. Early meant prepared.
He positioned himself beside the unadorned wooden door, back straight despite the protests of muscles still recovering from Kaelor's attentions.
The bruises beneath his tunic had faded from angry purple to sickly yellow-green, but they made their presence known with each breath. He ignored them. Pain had become background noise, hardly worth acknowledging.
