Ysra went back to the rows because the word had been sitting in her like a splinter since the rims, and a Watch who left a splinter in her hand was a Watch who would be unable to close it.
She went alone. She told the others she was going to count the seventh row again, which was true, and she told Sella to keep the ledger open and Brannoc to stay at the lamp, which was also true. She did not tell them that she wanted to hear the whisper without anyone beside her. She was not sure, herself, why she wanted it. It was a Watch’s instinct, she supposed. A sentry who has heard a sound from the wrong side of the wall does not send the whole company to look. She goes herself, and she listens, and then she decides what the sound is.
The seventh row ran off to her left from the lamp’s niche, cool and pale under her boots. She counted the seams as she walked, one palm-width at a time, with her fingers trailing the tile edges. The rows on either side were quiet. The sixth had its shrouded vessel at the end, and the eighth had its own, and both of them were cool and still and held nothing she could hear. But the seventh had a voice in it, and it had been there all along, and she had been too busy with the count to listen.
