The man didn't respond immediately.
He took the letter from her, his fingers brushing lightly against the parchment as though testing its weight. Not physically—no. Something else. Something practiced.
Then he gave a small nod.
"I won't."
His voice was low, steady. The kind of voice that didn't need to repeat itself.
The woman held his gaze for a moment longer, searching for doubt, hesitation—anything that might make her reconsider.
She found none.
"Good," she said quietly.
Then she turned and slipped back into the hidden passage, her figure swallowed by the darkness as if she had never been there at all.
The man waited.
He counted to ten in his head. Then twenty.
Only when he was certain no one had followed, no stray footsteps lingered, did he move.
