I didn't run away.
I took exactly five minutes. I locked myself in the employee restroom, knelt on the tiled floor, and dry-heaved into a mop bucket until my stomach stopped cramping. I splashed freezing water onto my face until my skin went numb, scrubbing at my cheeks as if I could wash away the shame of Sibal's performance. Then, I stared at my reflection in the polished steel of a towel dispenser.
The woman staring back looked terrified. Her eyes were wide, her skin pale against the grey wool collar.
"Stop it," I whispered to the steel. "You are not a victim. You are a spy."
I straightened my spine. I smoothed the rough fabric of my skirt. I walked back out.
The double doors to the Great Hall were heavy, solid oak that smelled of polish and age. I pushed them open silently.
The c
