Ishara's dark expression grew thunderous, the blue light of the containment runes reflecting in the tight, bitter lines around her eyes. She drew a harsh breath, the heavy silver collars at her wrists straining against the floor anchors as she leaned as far forward as the magic permitted.
"We entered Ashmere through a hidden subterranean passage that even Azarion's grand marshals did not know existed. Isadora knew of it by chance, and told us about it," she spat, her raspy voice echoing off the damp limestone walls of her cell. "So we concealed our presence beneath dark glamours, and we struck the inner keep without raising a single horn!"
"I know," Sylas murmured, taking a slow step back into the center of the subterranean chamber. His dark coat rustled softly as he clasped his gloved hands behind his waist, his posture impossibly relaxed given the weight of the dark history hanging between them. "Because I followed your shadows through that very passage."
