Author's pov
The pack house had been quiet for several hours by the time Robert moved.
He had been lying on the bed fully dressed since before midnight, his eyes open and fixed on the ceiling, counting the intervals between the patrol rotations the way he had been doing every night since Khai had put him in the east wing.
He knew the schedule by heart now, which gaps were wide enough and which ones required patience, and he had become very good at patience during ten years of exile.
The bird came to his window at half past midnight.
It landed on the outer ledge without a sound and sat there for exactly the amount of time it took Robert to register its presence and cross the room. It carried nothing.
No note, no marking, nothing that could be intercepted or read by anyone else. It d
