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.
