The rain had stopped by the time Gilbert dismissed the last of the patrol leaders. The great hall emptied into the muted rhythm of evening—boots on stone, doors shutting, the quiet sweep of a broom in a far corner.
Ella lingered at the edge of the room until Rook approached, a small lamp in hand.
“Alpha asked for you," he said. “North wing, second floor."
She gave him a long look. “Is this a summons or an invitation?"
“Both," Rook said. “With him, those can be the same thing. Or neither."
She took the lamp. “You always speak in riddles?"
“Only when I like the person," he said with a faint smile, then added, “He's in his study. Go by the side stair—fewer eyes."
---
The corridor to Gilbert's study was warm from braziers, lit with steady pools of lamplight. She knocked once, twice.
“
