The arrow had barely struck stone before silence devoured the corridor. For a suspended breath, everything stood still—the whispering torches, the echoing steps that no longer were, the thin trail of smoke rising from the arrow's fletching where it quivered against the wall.
Lucian's body sagged forward, the last sound escaping his throat was a startled gasp that broke too softly to be called fear. Before he could crumple to the marble, Rei caught him.
The soldier's movements were precise, almost rehearsed—an arm sliding behind Lucian's back, another bracing his shoulder, lowering him to safety with the ease of one used to catching lives before they hit the ground. Blood seeped down Rei's forearm where the arrow had grazed him, streaking red against the black of his uniform.
For a moment, there was nothing but the scent of iron and wax. Then came the noise—boots slamming against the marble, startled cries, the rush of servants from the adjoining hall.
