Sorcha caught the message and responded accordingly. “Yes, sir. Of course.”
At that moment, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed outside the door, pacing back and forth. Whoever was out there was waiting for the Commander.
Kyron met Nethran’s gaze before speaking. “Apologies for disturbing you, sir. We’ll speak another time.”
As Sorcha, Kyron, and Cat turned to leave, the heavy sound of footsteps echoed beyond the door were deliberate and unhurried. Whoever was there had been waiting and listening. The moment the door swung open,they were met with the piercing gazes of two elder druids standing just outside.
Their robes, dark and heavy with embroidered symbols of rank, seemed to add to the weight of their presence. Lines of worry creased their faces, their expressions carved from stone, somber, unwavering. One druid, an older man with silver streaked hair and deep set eyes, studied them with the quiet intensity of someone who already knew too much. The other, a woman with sharp cheekbones and a stern mouth. She crossed her arms over her chest, her fingers tapping against the worn leather of her sleeves restrained frustration barely concealed.
Sorcha’s throat tightened, but she forced herself to hold their gaze, to keep her expression neutral. Kyron stiffened beside her, his shoulders squared, while Cat flicked his tail, eyes darting between them and the commander.
Commander Nethran, to his credit, remained unreadable. He stepped forward, his expression a mask ofcalm authority. “Elders,” he greeted them smoothly, though Sorcha didn’t miss the slight tension in his voice.
Neither druid immediately responded. Instead, they exchanged a glance silent. After a few moments, the older one spoke, his voice stern and slow.
“We need to speak. Now.”
It wasn’t a request. Sorcha swallowed hard. Whatever was happening here, they didn’t want to be involved in it.
Exiting Commander Nethran’s office, Sorcha pulled her cloak tighter against the crisp autumn air. The sun hung high in the sky, casting golden light over the rooftops, but the chill of late October lingered, biting at her skin. A thin mist clung to the cobbled streets, curling around doorsteps, and the scent of damp earth and distant wood smoke filled the air.
The plan had been simple track everyone down, one by one, and tell them to meet at the tavern that evening. They weren’t going to pull them from their posts. Tonight, they would finally lay it all out: the Veil, Vaelric, thecreatures stirring on the other side, and the war creeping ever closer.
Sorcha sighed, her breath visible in the cold.
Kyron, walking beside her, smirked. “You keep doing that. You know, sighing dramatically isn’t a strategy.”
Sorcha shot him a look. “It is if I do it enough times and the problem disappears.”
Kyron chuckled. “Let me know how that works out for you.”
They were making their way toward the post when a loud burst of laughter cut through the market square Drystan’s, unmistakable and full of mischief.
Her gut twisted at the sound. It had been a long time since she’d heard such an easy, carefree laugh. A time when Emry would have been right there beside him, adding his own wry remarks, making her roll her eyes even as she smiled. The absence of his voice stung, settling into a familiar ache in her chest.
Kyron glanced at her but said nothing, giving her the space to process.
Then, as if reading her mind, he jerked his chin toward the tavern. “Might as well just go for it.”
Sorcha exhaled slowly. “Let’s get this over with.”
Pushing open the heavy wooden door, they were met with the comforting warmth of the tavern. The scent of spiced cider and roasting meat filled the air, mingling with the crackling fire in the hearth. Lanterns flickered overhead, casting a golden glow over the room.
And there, gathered near the center, was nearly everyone they had been looking for.
Drystan, leaning back in his chair with a grin, was in the middle of telling some exaggerated story, arms waving dramatically. Eirin sat across from him, arms crossed, shaking his head at whatever nonsense was spilling from Drystan’s mouth. Mason, half listening, his attention more on the plate of food in front of him, while Rhosyn and a few others were lost in quiet conversation at the nearby table.
This wasn’t a coincidence.
Nethran must have known this conversation had to happen, had likely worked it out in his head that Sorcha would track them down or they’d find him first. And since he was tied up in his own meeting at the Druid School, he had given them the space to start this on their own.
Kyron leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Well, that saves us some time.”
Sorcha swallowed, her fingers curling into the edge of her cloak. She had been dreading this moment, not just because of what they had to discuss, but because she had barely spoken to any of them since her abrupt announcement about who she was. Especially Eirin.
Eirin… his gaze locked onto hers the moment she stepped inside. Sorcha’s breath hitched, her pulse skipping, but she forced herself to keep walking. To pretend she didn’t feel the warmth of every moment they had shared pressing against her like a ghost.
She had come here to tell them the plan. To prepare for what was coming. But as she stepped further into the room, she realized she wasn’t sure if she was ready to face Eirin, or what came next.
