Nyx Silvaine had been taught that mercy was a trap with clean hands.
Kindness meant the hook was hidden.
Restraint meant the owner was patient.
Choice meant someone had already decided which options were permitted.
Therefore, when Cedric Valdrake allowed her to leave his room alive after a failed assassination, Nyx did not feel saved.
She felt hunted by a method she did not understand.
Moonlight followed her across the dormitory roofline. Astral Zenith slept beneath her feet in layers of arrogance: Gold Hall towers glowing with permanent warmth, Silver bridges polished by servant hands, Iron walkways left cold enough to punish poverty, Obsidian corridors pretending shared rooms were character development.
Nobles loved calling cages by educational names.
Nyx moved between shadows and counted exits automatically.
West parapet. Drain chain. Service roof. Laundry shaft. Broken gargoyle with hollow wing.
Four ways out.
Three if Cedric had placed a watcher.
