The lower levels of Grimridge were colder than the upper house, not only in temperature, but in purpose.
The stone was older there, worn smooth in places by years of use and rough in others where repairs had been done cheaply because no one important was meant to spend time below.
The corridor swallowed sound. Torchlight burned weakly along the walls, just enough to guide movement and not enough to make anyone comfortable.
Sable kept close to Mara as they descended, one hand at her back, the other braced against the wall whenever her ribs flared too sharply. Her shoulder ached with a deep, mean throb beneath the binding, and the claim mark at her throat burned with steady heat that had still not settled into anything gentle.
