He woke in the insect-hour, some unidentifiable sound peeling open his senses.
At first, only the usual building noises registered, pipes in the wall, a distant cough, perhaps a laundry chute somewhere shifting its load. On the second listen, he heard it again: a faint, deliberate scuff, and the softer sound of bare feet on stone.
He waited, counting the breaths between movements, then rose with practiced quiet.
Cassian's bunk was empty. The door, slightly ajar.
Soren eased into the empty corridor. To the left, the hall bent twice before ending in communal washrooms and a service stair; to the right, it traced a line through four other dorms before terminating at the glass-walled upper lounge.
Something moved at the extreme end, the lounge, or just before. He followed, careful not to let the floorboards under his feet betray him.
