Adam pressed toward the hall's main entrance, steady steps echoed by Desmond's. He pressed a finger against his lips the moment they emerged from the staff corridor.
His pace slowed, his clenched fists plunged into the pockets of his somber robes, and his lips twisted just enough to resemble a smile—cold and determined—reflected by the polished floor as he passed between the reward counters.
Magi gazed at him for a heartbeat before lowering their faces back to the materials they had been sorting through with exaggerated interest or, more likely, disinterest in him. Thirteen days of watching Louis try to catch him and Desmond red-handed had turned annoyance into indifference, especially on his last day of punishment.
Though he knew the magi were eager not to see his face disturb their work, he kept his pace natural until he pushed the door on the other side of the hall.
