The courtyard still smelled of sweat, blood, and scorched earth. The torches had been extinguished, leaving the place blanketed in a damp, eerie quiet. Only the faintest echoes of the mob's chanting clung to the stone, as if the air itself refused to let go of their madness.
Leon and Wolfe returned to their room in silence. The boy followed close behind, silent as a shadow, though his trembling was impossible to hide.
Leon pushed the door shut and did his habitual scan for bugs, pressing his hands against cracks, running his palms across the beams. Wolfe helped, their movements fluid and practiced. Nothing. Only after that did Leon allow himself to breathe.
The boy collapsed on the bed immediately, curling into himself. His body twitched as though phantom pains from the drug still lingered.
Wolfe watched him with narrowed eyes. "He'll break before long."
