They got back to Grimridge with the ledgers before the cold had settled fully into night, and that mattered more than rest.
Bell Hollow had not been another hidden room with rope and oil and waiting men alone. It had been a sorting place for ordinary life turned into permission. The forged work slips, the copied timings, the small practical notes on baths, bread, keys, yard deliveries, service routes, and the women who carried those things through the house had changed the shape of what Rowan's war looked like. She was no longer only a woman taking openings where she found them. She had been building those openings out of work everyone else trusted enough not to notice.
The great hall felt that the moment Cassian laid the first stack on the long table.
