Not footsteps, not shadows. Voices, carrying down the passage from the direction of the market. Closer than they should have been. Terrin's low controlled tone and Holt's slightly less controlled one, the clipped register of household guards who had misplaced something they were personally responsible for. The delivery cart must have cleared the avenue faster than usual. Or the older guard was sharper than she'd given him credit for. Either way they had found the Thornwall passage entrance and were moving down it. She had perhaps twenty seconds.
She turned her head without fully turning her body.
"Now," she said, keeping her voice flat and even. "They're in the passage."
The alcove reorganized itself behind her with impressive speed. She faced back toward the market and did not watch. S
