******
The corridors of the Nightshade Hall smelled of oil and old paper, the air thick with the residue of late night experiments and the kind of ambition that never slept. And Aiden's arrival shifted the air like a fresh wind. He entered with the practiced gait of one who had learned to keep a careful front, a younger man who had been forced into coarse lessons about power and compliance. He bowed formally to Marcellus
"There's no need for such formality," Marcellus said, rising and embracing Aiden as if the boy were a favored son returned. When they parted, Marcellus's hand lingered on Aiden's shoulder long enough to read the boy's nervous steadiness.
"How did the assassin strike go?" Marcellus asked conversationally, as if he were inquiring after the weather.
Aiden inclined his head. "It was arranged to tackle a bit of an issue I had with someone and to also set a tea for Lucian so everything went perfectly fine"
