He caught the minute drag of a guard's boot adjusting weight three corridors away. Not guessed. Heard.
The faint rustle of banners shifting against stone high above in a draft no one else had noticed. Water threading through ancient channels beneath the lower halls. A pulse of movement in the walls where mice disturbed dust behind old masonry.
The slow, uneven stumble of Elder Thalira's heartbeat. Another racing in one of the surviving captives. Another, Marcus. Steady. Controlled. Though elevated. Watching him.
Thessian did not react outwardly. But inwardly, something sharpened again.
It was not merely enhanced hearing. It was the sense that sound had become structured in a way he had never before perceived, every living thing around him announcing itself in rhythm and disturbance.
And that realization did something dangerous.
It thrilled him.
Then scent.
He let that open next.
And this, this was stranger still.
