The departure had been planned for morning.
Bags ready. Halveth's carriage arranged in the inn's stable yard, the horses fed and watered, the attendants moving through the pre-departure routine with the practiced efficiency of people who had done this many times for a noble who traveled frequently. The road east waiting with the patient indifference of roads everywhere.
Lexel was the first one ready, which surprised nobody.
He knocked on Flinn's door at the arranged hour. No answer. Knocked again. The particular silence on the other side — not the silence of someone still asleep, not the silence of someone ignoring a knock. A different quality. The silence of a room that didn't have anyone in it to make sound.
He opened the door.
The room told him everything in approximately three seconds.
