She stood in the entrance court and looked at it.
Not reading it the way she'd read it the first time — coming through the gate with a case file and nowhere to stand except exactly where she chose. Not the careful assessment of someone establishing their position.
Just looking.
The way you looked at something that was yours.
The stone. The Ashveil insignia above the main door. The east tower where Serin's window was lit in the way it had been lit at some point every visit for a year and a half. The entrance to the archive where Cael would be at his desk, noting things. The kitchen where the recipe had been made correctly for the first time.
The door frame, upstairs. All the marks. All the room.
The Hold had the specific quality of a building that knew it was occupied by the right peo
