Lucia didn't wait for morning.
She moved before the bells tolled, before the palace stirred.
Her boots were wrapped in cloth to muffle steps. The silver cuffs glinted beneath her sleeves as she crept through the servant tunnels.
In her satchel: a sedative strong enough to put down a berserking warhound, brewed over five nights.
For Ares.
If he followed.
*No—when he follows.*
---
She reached the southern gate just before dawn. The snow was blinding, wind slicing across her cheeks.
A junior stableboy waited, as promised, by the messenger's gate. His voice trembled.
“C-cart's ready. Mule's slow, but strong. Should get you to the ridge before dusk."
Lucia nodded and handed him a pouch of honey-salted bread. “Hide it. Eat slow."
He blinked. “You're not coming back, are you?"
She lo
