Rowan snuck out of the hall before the adepts minus Willow had finished paying their respects to Ciprian. Outside, the road was deserted except for a handful of novices running toward the training field. Gray clouds hid the sun, and the air had grown heavy in anticipation of the coming rain. Rowan pulled his jacket closed, even though it was warm out and the material felt sticky against his skin.
As he debated between saying goodbye to Loma and going straight home, the whisper came again. He cocked his head and stood there in the middle of the road, listening as if the sound were something real and not purely confined to the space between his ears. He suddenly realized why it felt so familiar.
It was just like the last time someone had approached his bridge to ask for help. The formless sound of words hovered like the echo of a fading dream, just out of reach.
