The marks we found

The night deepened around Petra, shrouding the estate in a hush that even the wind dared not break. In Lucien's study, the fire had burned down to embers, casting long, flickering shadows across the stone walls. Liora stood near the shelves, her fingers brushing over a leather-bound volume she didn't really intend to read.

Lucien had returned after changing out of his travel-worn cloak, now in a loose tunic, the collar slightly undone. He poured a glass of wine, offering her one without a word. She hesitated only briefly before accepting.

"You're quiet," he said at last, his voice roughened by weariness.

"I'm listening."

He studied her for a beat, as if the simplicity of her answer surprised him.

"The marks we found… they weren't random. Rowan believes they were left by a trained, disciplined group. No merchants would've used those routes."