The room stinks of sweat and old blood and smoke—the smell of warriors who’ve been drilling since before dawn. Leather creaks as they shift weight. Hands rest on weapon hilts—casual, but ready.
Thraz is the last to enter. His eyes meet mine for a fraction of a heartbeat before sliding away. His tusks gleam in the brazier light. He positions himself at the far end of the table, closest to the door. Escape route secured.
I watch him take his place and say nothing.
“Report,” I order, voice cutting through the silence.
Hadrun steps forward. “Another patrol hit last night. Eastern pass, near the old quarry. Three dead, two wounded. Attackers knew exactly where they’d be.”
“How?”
“Patrol routes are decided at morning briefing. Someone’s leaking information.”
The table goes silent. Warriors shift weight, glance at each other. Gorak’s hand drifts to his axe haft. Malthak crosses his arms over his scarred chest.
“An inside leak,” Malthak says slowly. Old bastard with more scars than skin. “You’re accusing one of us?”
“I’m stating facts.” Hadrun’s voice doesn’t waver. “Someone is feeding intel to our enemies. Someone with access to command briefings.”
More muttering. Accusations brewing beneath the surface.
I straighten and address the room. “New protocols. Gates locked—no one in or out without my personal approval. All messengers stopped and searched. Guard rotations doubled and randomized. No one knows their post until an hour before shift change.”
“That will cripple our communications with—” Gorak starts.
“I don’t care. We’re being bled from within. Until I find the wound, we seal everything.” I let my gaze sweep across every face. “Traitors will die screaming. Slowly. In front of the entire clan. Make sure everyone understands that.”
Nods. Grim acceptance.
“Dismissed.”
They file out slowly. Thraz lingers near the door, speaking quietly with Gorak. Their heads bend close together.
I watch them without appearing to watch.
Hadrun waits until we’re alone. “You’re sure about the girl?”
“I’m sure someone wants me to doubt her.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.” I move to the window, looking out over the training yards where warriors drill in the weak morning light. Spears clash. Shields crack. The sound of preparation for war. “But my instincts say she’s not the problem.”
“Your instincts?” Hadrun’s voice is carefully neutral. “Or something else?”
I don’t answer. Don’t turn around.
After a moment, he sighs. “I’ll dig deeper. Find out who’s spreading the rumors about her.”
“Do that. And, Hadrun—I want to know who had access to her corridor last night.”
He pauses at the door. “Something happened?”
“Someone tried her door. Guards didn’t stop them.”
Hadrun’s expression hardens. “I’ll get names.”
He leaves, and I’m alone with maps that offer no answers and a restlessness that won’t stop clawing at my ribs.
