Anastasia had been standing in the second-floor corridor long before the sun had fully risen. Through the grand window, she watched the entire castle courtyard stir to life on its own.
Light snow was still falling, fine flakes clinging to the shoulders of the servants hurrying about with document crates. On the eastern side of the courtyard, the engine of a Sudrath Sky-Hunter was already warming up, its rotors spinning lazily and scattering snowflakes in all directions. Whump, whump, whump. There was no kitchen chaos this morning. Only measured footsteps and short, barked orders—the rhythm of a castle that knew exactly when someone was leaving.
