As Marsai was digesting the report, her mind combing through the delicate threads of information like a spider tending its web, the door burst open without warning.
She didn't look up immediately. Her tone was sharp and cold. "What is it?"
The attendant who had barged in froze mid-step. His chest rose and fell quickly, but the words stuck in his throat.
Marsai finally lifted her head, one brow arched in icy disapproval. "I assume there's a reason you're stomping through my office like a wild boar?"
Before the young man could stammer an explanation, a new sound interrupted the room.
A sharp, metallic squeak — then another. Creeeak... clack... creeeak...
Her expression darkened, tension pulling at the corners of her mouth. She knew that sound. Everyone in the tower did by now. The chilling rasp of rusted wheels rolling across polished stone — unmistakably belonging to Prince Nioh's battered wheelchair.
