“Has ‘permission to speak freely’ ever stopped me before?”
He pulled a folded slip of parchment from his boot, rolling it across his knee.
“Does this name mean anything to you?”
He passed the parchment across the firelight, its edges still curled.
Viktor unfolded it.
Amerei Zrynon.
A name he didn’t know. Yet something in him stilled.
“Amerei,” he breathed. The last syllable lifted like a ray of dawn.
He shook his head.
“It’s Elvish?”
Gabriel nodded.
“She is. Well—half-elven. But noble. Important.”
He lowered his voice.
“She was due back to camp today, but she never arrived.”
Viktor looked up sharply.
Gabriel’s tone dropped, quiet and heavy.
“She’s Commander Storne’s daughter. Traveled from Casqadia with only her man-at-arms. They were expected by dusk. No one’s heard a word.”
He turned the parchment to reveal a crude map.
“This was her last known location.”
A river bend. A shaded mark.
Viktor’s jaw flexed.
He knew that stretch of road—the scent of resin and rain-soaked ash.
The paper caught a gust of wind—fluttered once—then slipped into the coals.
It ignited instantly.
He stood.
Gabriel looked up.
“Where are you going?”
Viktor’s eyes were already scanning the tents.
“Where’s Storne?”
Gabriel sighed, tossing a handful of sand onto the fire.
