For his part, Courfeyrac had heard nothing coming from the hall. The only sounds he could make out were those coming from the camp, the overly loud conversations that he both enjoyed and wished would pipe down. They were conflicting notions, the desire to be social and the desire to be silent and live another day. From his perch near the mammoth display, he hissed at them to keep quiet, casting his eyes down the hall.

Vaguely, he thought he caught a glimpse of something glowing and red in the darkness. He squinted and strained a moment, seeing nothing but black.