[Haldor's POV—Silver Ember Lodge—Upper Floor—Continuation]
The wooden stairs creaked softly beneath our boots, not loud enough to warn, not quiet enough to forget.
Zerith moved behind me, close—but not too close. I could feel his awareness, sharp and alert, like a blade waiting for direction. The corridor above was dim, lined with closed doors and the faint scent of incense mixed with foreign spices.
The two Astreon men stopped at the last door on the right.
One of them murmured a spell under his breath, not Elorian, not even temple magic.
Something colder.
The door unlocked without a sound; they slipped inside.
I waited.
Three breaths.
Four.
Then I raised my hand slightly, Zerith nodded and we moved.
I pressed my ear to the door and their voices came out in whispers, "…We should start acting."
"…Yes, we should. The festival is close."
"...And before anyone finds out about us, before the Crown Prince and crown princess starts moving."
