The east barracks sat near the river gate, a squat stone structure that predated most of Adaranthe's outer walls. It had been built for function rather than display, reinforced over decades until it resembled a fortress more than a garrison. Guard towers rose at each corner, and the walls were thick enough to withstand siege engines that would never come.

The former Paladin approached from the north, moving through side streets that ran parallel to the main thoroughfare. The illusion held as it had all morning, turning him into just another figure in the city's endless flow. Workers passed without looking. A merchant's cart rolled by close enough to brush his cloak. No one stopped. No one noticed.

But something was wrong.

The barracks should have been busy at this hour: morning drills, shift rotations, patrols coming and going. The gate should have been active with guards checking credentials, wagons delivering supplies, officials arriving for meetings that required privacy.

Instead, the street leading to it was quiet.

Fewer people moved here. Those who did kept their distance from the barracks entrance, crossing to the other side of the street or choosing different routes entirely.

He slowed his pace without stopping, observing from the flow of bodies around him.

The gate was manned. Two guards stood at their posts, spears held upright, attention outward. Normal on the surface, but their posture was wrong, too relaxed, the kind of stance that came when there was nothing left to guard.

No one entered. No one left.

The courtyard beyond the gate was visible through the iron bars: empty, no movement, no sounds of activity from within the buildings, just stone and shadow and stillness.

The realisation settled immediately. They had already moved her.

The execution was scheduled for midday, giving them hours still, but the Church wouldn't wait until the last moment. They would have transported her earlier, under guard, before the crowds gathered and complicated security.

He continued past the barracks without breaking stride, eyes forward, pace unchanged. A guard at the gate glanced his way briefly, then returned his attention to the empty street.

Cathedral Square.

That was where the notice had said, where they would make the example public. The Church didn't execute people in back alleys or closed courtyards. They did it where crowds could gather, where the message would spread, where doctrine could be demonstrated with rope.

He turned down the next street and picked up his pace.

The route to Cathedral Square cut through districts he'd already mapped. Main avenues that would be crowded now, filling with people drawn by morbid curiosity or civic duty or simple routine. He avoided those and took side streets instead, narrow passages where workers moved between buildings and delivery carts navigated tight corners.

The city's rhythm had shifted around the coming execution. Merchants were closing stalls early or staying open longer depending on their calculation of profit. Taverns would fill after, when people needed somewhere to process what they'd seen or pretend they hadn't. The execution had become an event, scheduled and anticipated, woven into Adaranthe's daily pattern.

He moved faster now.

Not running, that would draw attention, but his pace had increased beyond casual, driven by arithmetic that had no good outcome. The woman had been taken before dawn and transported to Cathedral Square sometime after. They would hold her near the scaffold until midday, under guard, visible to anyone who arrived early.

How long until midday?

The sun was climbing but hadn't peaked yet. Two hours, maybe less. Time was compressing, turning what had seemed like enough into barely sufficient.

He cut through an alley that opened onto a wider street. More people here. The crowd was thickening as he moved closer to the city's centre. Conversations rose and fell around him. Someone laughed. A child ran past chasing a ball. Normal life continuing alongside the scheduled death.

Cathedral Square occupied the heart of Adaranthe, a vast open space paved with stones that had been worn smooth by centuries of traffic. The Cathedral itself dominated the north side, its spires reaching high enough to cast shadows across half the square by afternoon.

Church buildings surrounded the other three sides. Administrative offices, libraries, and barracks for the Paladins who served directly under the Arch-Presbyter.

The scaffold would be in the centre.

Where sight lines were clear and no one could claim they hadn't seen.

He emerged onto a street that fed directly into the square and stopped.

The crowd was already forming.

Gathering steadily as people arrived from different directions. Some came alone. Others in small groups. A few families stood near the edges, parents keeping children close.

Vendors had set up at the periphery, selling bread and water to those who planned to stay. Guards lined the square's entrances, watching but not restricting access.

Gabriel moved into the crowd, letting it absorb him as he worked his way closer.

The scaffold rose in the centre of the square, exactly where he'd expected it.

Raised high enough that everyone could see, steps leading up one side, the rope already hanging from the crossbeam, noose tied and waiting.

Guards surrounded the scaffold, more than seemed necessary, a dozen at least, positioned in a loose perimeter that kept the crowd at a distance. White cloaks marked half of them as Church soldiers. The rest wore city guard colours.

And near the scaffold, isolated inside the perimeter, a figure knelt.

The distance and the angle made details difficult. Guards blocked much of the view, their bodies forming a wall of white cloaks and steel.

Two guards stood directly behind the prisoner, close enough to grab her if she tried to run.

Not that she could, not with her hands bound and a dozen more guards surrounding her.

Gabriel stopped at the edge of the crowd, fifty paces from the scaffold, close enough to confirm she was there, far enough to remain unremarkable among the gathered bodies.

Around him, the crowd continued to grow. Conversations buzzed. Someone pointed toward the scaffold. A merchant hawked his wares. Life and death occupying the same space.

The sun climbed higher.

Not long now.

The bells would ring at midday. The guards would bring her to the scaffold. The executioner would place the noose. And the woman who had survived one night because he'd given her a chance would die because he'd given her a chance.

He had put her here.

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