Edrin moved like a ghost, slipping through every corner and crevice of the manor.
He hadn't idled his time away since arriving, he'd been watching, cataloging and analyzing.
Years of training and service had sharpened his mind into a blade honed for pattern recognition. Movement routes, guard rotations, servant habits he knew them all by now.
The only things that could give him pause were the elusive shadows of Isolde.
But even they, as a direct result of recent events, must have been stretched dangerously thin.
He couldn't be certain of their numbers, nobody could.
But between guarding Isolde's four daughters and handling assassinations, intelligence, and subterfuge in the capital's underbelly, he doubted any remained glued to her side, talk less of loitering around the mansion.
She didn't need them, of course. Not as an experienced Anchor. But for him, it was a welcome development.
