News of Brameroth's escape spread swiftly.
When Caelith heard, unease stirred within her.
That sensation—the feeling of being watched—had grown stronger with each passing day.
On the street, she would turn without reason. Beneath the corridors, she would feel a chill along her back.
Even while seated at her embroidery, she could not shake the sense that someone lingered beyond the window, watching.
She told herself it was just her imagination. And yet, it felt too real to dismiss completely.
That afternoon, she went once more to the rear courtyard to fetch thread. As she walked beneath the corridor, the feeling came again.
Sudden. Unmistakable.
She turned sharply.
Nothing.
Only embroidered panels hanging from wooden poles, swaying gently in the breeze. She stood there for a moment, then drew a breath and forced herself onward.
When she retrieved the thread and turned back, she suddenly heard it.
Footsteps.
Right behind her.
