The trek back to their hideout was cloaked in near silence, broken only by the soft shuffle of boots against cobblestones and the occasional muffled grunt from one of the bound thieves. The city slept under the weight of night; flickering lamps cast wavering pools of light, and the streets seemed to hold their breath. Serah set a steady, purposeful pace, eyes darting to every shadow, every flicker of movement—windows ajar, loose shutters stirring, the faintest sounds that might betray a watcher. The three captives stumbled often, wrists bound tight behind their backs, ropes biting deep enough to leave angry welts. Each time one faltered or lagged, Jorin's sharp tug on the rope yanked them forward with a hiss of pain.