They climbed back up the well rope in pairs, the same careful, aching way we'd descended. hand over hand, muscles burning, breaths ragged in the narrow dark. I went last, hauling myself up the final stretch until my fingers hooked the rim and I dragged my body over the edge.
The courtyard air struck me like a cold, cleansing slap: crisp night wind, no more sour reek of old blood, no damp stone rot clinging to my lungs. I sucked it in deep, grateful.
I untied the knot with numb fingers and coiled the rope roughly over my shoulder. The folded papers sat hot in my palm, ink blurred where sweat had seeped through.
"Steward," I called, voice rougher than I intended.
A young guard flinched, then bolted toward the keep at a dead run.
Kalia leaned hard against the well's stone lip, arms crossed so tightly it looked like she was physically holding her ribs together. "So. We doing this now? Middle of the fucking night? After everything we just crawled through down there?"
