The lower levels of Grimridge were colder than the upper house, not only in temperature, but in purpose.
The stone was older there, worn smooth in places by years of use and rough in others where repairs had been done cheaply, as if no one with real authority was ever meant to spend enough time below to care. The corridor swallowed sound. Torchlight burned weakly along the walls, enough to guide movement and not enough to make anyone comfortable.
Sable descended beside Cassian with one hand braced against the wall whenever her ribs protested too sharply. Her shoulder ached beneath the binding, deep and mean, and every step reminded her that her body had been asked to survive too much in too little time.
Mara was not with them.
