Thomas left Arion's office with the restriction order folded in his inner pocket and the weight of his own future sitting behind his ribs like something too large to breathe around.
The corridor outside was quieter than it should have been.
Perhaps it was not truly quiet. The palace was still alive around him, with aides walking briskly past intersections, guards posted beneath carved archways, and secretaries moving between offices with the particular efficiency that came after military crisis, when everyone wanted normal work to look normal again as quickly as possible. Somewhere farther away, someone laughed. Somewhere else, doors opened and closed, paper shifted, and shoes clicked over polished stone.
Thomas heard all of it and none of it.
He walked until the corridor opened toward one of the side gardens, then stepped outside without thinking too much about where he was going.
