Undercliff changed the hall in a quieter way than Bell Hollow had.
When Cassian and Jace brought the bound woman in from the fold, with the mule rope in one hand and the real wrap of keys and names in the other, there was no outward ripple of relief, no sharp intake of breath the way there had been when Oda or Mara came back on-page alive. This was colder than that. More exact. The house had already learned that Rowan's war did not live only in bodies dragged through snow or women tied in lofts. Now Grimridge was seeing the hands that had been sorting its own life into usable pieces.
Nessa was the first to react.
She sat near the hearth under blankets Oda had bullied around her shoulders, pale and tired and still red-marked at the wrists from the slate crossing. The instant she saw the woman from Undercliff, she straightened so abruptly that the blanket slipped to her lap.
"That's her," Nessa said. "That's the one at the fold."
