Ahce sensed it before anyone else.
A shadow moving too deliberately behind a row of ornamental hedges. A faint ripple in the air, subtle, almost imperceptible—but to her, it screamed danger. She had honed her senses since the awakening of her psychic power, and tonight, walking back from the study hall where she had spent hours cataloging the duchy's strategic records, she knew she wasn't alone.
The gardens of the Pentecase Duchy were quiet, illuminated only by the cold silver of the moon. Lanterns along the paths flickered in the wind, casting long, unnatural shadows that shifted like dark spirits across the manicured lawns. Ahce's boots made almost no sound as she slowed her steps, letting her eyes sweep in a slow arc, feeling the air for vibrations, listening for heartbeats or irregular breathing.
There. A pulse. Not Reichardt's. Not one of her guards. Foreign. Intentional. Trained.
