Sera Thorne reached the iron drainage grate with three soundless steps.
Her fingers closed around the cold brass bolt, easing it from its rusted socket without a click.
Behind her, Elder Sterling stood in the shadows of the lower corridor. His hand rested lightly upon his sword hilt, his Nascent Soul senses locked on the dark maintenance tunnel beyond.
The heavy iron grate swung inward by two feet.
A draft of cool tunnel air carried the scent of crushed mountain thyme into the corridor.
Two slender figures slipped through the opening, dropping onto the flagstones like cats. Both wore hooded alchemist cloaks made of rough grey wool.
Sera’s bone dagger was already resting against the throat of the foremost intruder.
The stranger didn’t flinch. Instead, he slowly raised both hands to show empty palms.
