The corridor ahead was not empty.
A lone figure stood in the half-light of a wall sconce — tall, armored, and utterly still. The torchlight caught on the curve of his helm, glinting off the narrow slit where his eyes watched them.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Asael's hand slid silently to the hilt of his sword. Galahad's eyes flicked to the man's shoulders — relaxed, but not unready.
Then the figure spoke, his voice low and gruff. "You're not supposed to be here."
Steel hissed softly as Asael drew his sword. "Neither are you."
The man tilted his head, as if amused. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he stepped forward into the torchlight.
The man was not a knight.
He was a Zuran Captain — and from the crimson feather in his helm, not just any captain, but the Warden of the Keep. The man who held the keys to every gate, every cell, every armory in Silverstone Castle.
Behind him, the faint glint of more metal moved in the shadows.
