Elowyn crouched low, letting the damp grass cling to her boots.

The night still had mist from the courtyard, and that night's haze worked in her favor, wrapping her in invisibility.

Every step was calculated, soft, deliberate.

Her satchel lay just beyond the training field's edge, near the corner where drills had left it leaning against a post.

A noise-metal scraping on stone-made her freeze.

Cadet Housborn, apparently on a water run, moved across the courtyard, his footsteps echoing ...