By the time they got back to Grimridge with the second map and the oilskin note, the day had already begun folding itself toward dusk.
That mattered more than sleep, more than food, more than the ache in Sable's hips and lower back that had settled into something dull and relentless over the last two chapters of the night. Bell Hollow was written for dusk. Whoever still held Rowan's next line would be moving on that timing already unless the broken sequence from room one had given them reason to hesitate. They had the watcher, the paper, the map, and the first room. What they did not have was luxury.
The great hall had changed again while they were out.
