By the time we reached the fortress gate, the sky had turned the color of bruised slate. The iron bars ground upward with a heavy, familiar shriek that usually brought a sense of relief, but tonight it felt like the closing of a cage. The guards on duty didn't salute. They just watched us pass with the hollow, exhausted stares of men who had spent too many hours looking into the dark. Jaron nodded to the watch commander, a brief gesture that looked entirely normal to anyone else but signaled a quiet, total lockdown of his own expression.We moved through the lower courtyard in silence. The air here smelled of damp stone, horse sweat, and the sharp tang of woodsmoke from the barracks. It was the smell of safety, or at least the illusion of it. Every shadow cast by the torches seemed longer than it had this morning. Every murmur from the open tavern doors felt like a secret being kept from us.We didn't head toward the grand hall. Instead, we took the narrow winding staircases that led
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