The knock came at dawn, three sharp raps that cut through the morning quiet like an accusation.
Lucian found Tom the guard standing on his doorstep, still in yesterday's uniform, his face drawn with exhaustion. Behind him, the streets of Austmark were unusually empty—even the early bakers and milk vendors had stayed indoors.
"They know about Marta," Tom said without preamble. "Mrs. Carlisle reported it to Mayor Prescott last night. There's to be a... conversation... this morning."
Lucian's stomach tightened. "What kind of conversation?"
"The kind where the Mayor reminds everyone about the importance of harmony. The kind where examples are made." Tom glanced over his shoulder, then stepped closer. "I'm supposed to escort you there. Both of you."
"And you're warning me instead of arresting me because...?"
