The west upper hall had always been the quiet wing of Grim Hollow. It wasn't strategic, not like the barracks corridor Bright defended, nor essential like the supply trenches or the lower armory. It was a long passage overlooking the jagged cliffside, thin windows lining the wall like half-closed eyes.
Tonight, that quiet wasn't peace.
It was pressure.
Silas stood at the far end of the hall, knuckles white around his daggers, trying to ignore how his breath fogged in the cold air. The torches along the walls flickered with uneven light, their flames shivering like they felt the same thing he did.
Something was coming.
Something big.
And as a low-initiate his chances of coming out of this alive and unbroken where close to none.
But drey was never a betting man, he planned to skew his odds just a little bit, to help himself.
