Nyx found the gray thread on a rough place beside the window. It was too short to identify a garment by itself. The dust beneath it mattered more. A heel had turned close to the wall, leaving a clean curve through the pale film on the stone.
Cedric had stood there, waited, and left by the broad stair. His cloak had made him harder to pick out from the far end of the passage. It hadn't kept the cloth from catching. Nyx left the thread where it was.
She had watched him discover the locked staff door, return past the same students, and spend an evening avoiding a man carrying his clean bedding. That should have made the assignment simpler.
It didn't.
A careless target repeated useful mistakes. Cedric kept changing which ones he made.
