Chapter 7 · The Healer Who Charges in Secrets

The courtyard cleared fast. Too fast. Lucan watched the robed figures peel away like smoke, their boots scraping stone in a rhythm that felt rehearsed. The Elder didn't look back. Varro and Scarface followed him through the arched gate, their shoulders hunched, their hands loose at their sides like they were trying not to run.

Mira's grip on his wrist hadn't let up. Her fingers pressed into the pulse point, hard enough that he could feel his own heartbeat pushing back against her skin. She was still half a step in front of him, blade arm angled out, eyes tracking the last of the retreating crowd.

"They left," Lucan said. His voice came out rough, scraped raw from the inside. His chest was still on fire where the bone spike had gone in. The wound had closed, the Ledger's work, but the ache ran deeper, like something had been scraped out and left hollow.

Mira didn't move. "They didn't leave. They repositioned."

He blinked. His brain was still catching up, still trying to sort Noah's instincts from Lucan's half-broken memories. "What?"

"Look at the gates." She tilted her chin toward the courtyard's three exits. "No one posted. No one watching.