All eyes snapped toward Avery.

The daughter of the Nixon bloodline remained as still as a frozen lake, slowly shaking her head. A scout standing at her shoulder interpreted the silent movements of her hands. “I did not scent the riverbank this evening. Many sentries can testify that I retreated to my private den to retrieve my belongings.”

Ewing immediately stepped into the light to shield her. “I vouch for Avery’s path. I handed her a relic myself, and she remained in my presence before returning to her quarters. She has no motive for such a hunt, nor did she witness the fall. We are chasing ghost-scents here. It is...