The sky hadn't yet turned gold, but a cool breath of morning already brushed the walled gardens, dotting every blade and bloom with trembling dew. It was that brief hush before sunrise when birds considered singing but had not yet found their voices and the palace guards were changing shifts with bleary eyes. In that hush, three figures moved like mismatched shadows between the hedges.
Cerys padded first, boots gliding over the damp gravel without a scrape. The loose tail of her red hair swung in a controlled arc at every corner she took, each motion measured, soldier-sharp. Her shoulders still ached from the night's brawl, yet she kept her spine straight, gaze scanning left and right for patrol silhouettes.
