Beatrice's POV
I didn't slow. I didn't look at the sigils as they unraveled themselves with quiet efficiency, layers peeling back like they had been waiting for this moment. Systems do not anticipate prisoners unless release has been rehearsed.
They had rehearsed with me.
My release wasn't spontaneous. It was scheduled. Timed.
Coordinated with something larger than my individual case. That realization settled cold and certain in my chest.
"Step forward," someone said.
Not a command.
Not a threat.
An instruction phrased as courtesy.
I stepped.
The corridor beyond my cell was brighter than I remembered. Not warm this place never believed in warmth but intentional. Clean stone. Reinforced arches. Visibility designed to reassure.
Transparency as architecture.
Two guards flanked me.
Not escorting.
Flanking.
There's a difference.
An escort walks ahead or behind. An escort leads or follows.
