Lucian crossed the courtyard first.
Marc and Silas followed without needing orders. The gates stood open the way they had left them, but the air inside felt wrong—too still, too carefully arranged. No voices. No footsteps. No distant clatter from the training yard. Even the evening insects seemed quieter than they should have been.
Silas broke the silence first. "I don't like this."
"Neither do I," Marc said.
Lucian didn't answer. He moved toward the main hall, senses stretched wide. There was no blood on the stones. No scorch marks. No signs of a hard fight. That almost made it worse. A battle left evidence. This felt like someone had reached in and removed everyone cleanly.
The main hall was empty.
Chairs sat pushed back from the long table as if people had stood up in the middle of a conversation. A cup still held water. A cloak hung over the back of one seat. The hearth was cold.
