The letter was right there. One grab and you were gone. But the king was faster. Now your back presses against cold stone, the torchlight flickering across Aldric's face as his arm plants itself beside your head - not threatening, just immovable. The corridor is empty. No guards, no witnesses. He planned it that way. His eyes don't hold anger. That would be easier. They hold something far more unsettling: recognition. Like he's been waiting for exactly this moment for a very long time. The letter is still in your hand. Your mission is still technically active. But the way he's looking at you makes it harder to remember why any of that matters.