Lucen wasn't sure if the Association had built the island to feel like a trap, but it worked.
Everywhere he turned, eyes followed him. Hunters leaning against walls, sparring in courtyards, perched on balconies, each glance sharp, curious, or openly hostile.
Not surprising. Word traveled fast in their circles, and anyone tied to a relic, much less corruption, was a lightning rod.
Kareth had shown him to a spartan stone barracks room: one cot, one trunk, one window overlooking the sea. Bare bones. Which suited Lucen just fine.
'Less furniture to break when someone decides they don't like me,' he thought, stretching his arms overhead before dropping onto the cot. The mattress was thin, but after days of pain and ritual, it felt like heaven.
He didn't get long.
A knock rattled the door, sharp, impatient. Lucen sighed. "Come in, or keep it down. I'm napping."
The door swung open.
