Larion knelt, pressing two fingers to the soil. The trail bent away from the academy grounds, angled toward cover and elevation. Clean. Intentional. Malox had planned his escape routes well. Therell, for all his recklessness, had followed.
Larion rose again, drawing a breath through his nose. Chasing them further would serve nothing. Whatever they carried, whatever truth or liability they represented, it had already passed beyond his reach.
Responsibility shifted its weight.
He turned back the way he had come, steps lengthening as Baron Lucienor's manor came into view through the trees.
The estate had changed in his absence.
Lanterns burned in places they usually remained dark. Voices overlapped in clipped bursts, orders traded between men who carried themselves like soldiers rather than house guards. At the main entrance, bodies were being moved with brisk efficiency, students shepherded out in small clusters, their protests ignored or cut short.
Larion slowed.
