Page 44 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

But there’s too much open space and too many angles to worry about. Bandits could be hiding in those trees. Any of those farmhouses could have an archer in the window. The rolling hills mean I can’t see what’s on the other side until we’re already exposed.

My training screams at me that this is terrible tactical ground. No cover and escape routes. We’re silhouetted against the sky, visible for miles.

“Where are we headed?” I ask, partly to distract myself from the anxiety crawling up my spine, partly because I need to know the terrain.

“Dúnbhrae Town,” Garrett answers without looking at me. His eyes stay fixed on the road ahead. “The eastern edge backs up against Elmwood. Marcian lived close to the tree line.”

“He’s a city guard. Why would he choose to stay so far away?” It doesn’t make sense. The commute alone would be brutal, and guards need to be able to respond quickly to calls. Living this far out is a liability.

Garrett shrugs. “Marcian grew up out here. His family has been farming that land for three generations. When he joined the Valorians, he built his house on the old family property so his wife could keep the farm running.”

“So everyone knows where he lives.” A guard with a predictable routine, living in an isolated location far from help. Easy target.

Garrett catches my meaning immediately. His hands tighten on the reins, knuckles going white. “You think someone targeted him specifically?”

“Seven Valorians don’t vanish by accident. Either someone’s targeting your soldiers or...”

“Or?”

I don’t want to voice the other possibility, but he deserves to hear it. “Or they’re being taken by one of their own. Someone who knows their routines, their routes home, and their weaknesses.”

Garrett’s expression goes cold. “No. Not my Valorians.”

“You questioned dozens of them yesterday. You were looking for inconsistencies in their stories.”

“I was being thorough.”

“You were looking for a traitor.”

He doesn’t deny it this time.

“The Valorians would die for the Aeonians without question. That kind of loyalty doesn’t leave room for betrayal,” he says, staring ahead at the road, jaw working.

“Every soldier has their breaking point.”

“Not mine.”

The certainty in his voice is absolute. I let it drop, but I don’t stop thinking about it. Seven disappearances in two months. No witnesses and no signs of struggle reported until now.

It has to be someone on the inside.

Someone who knows the Valorians’ schedules, their patrol routes, their home addresses. Someone they would trust enough to let their guard down around.

The sun climbs higher as we ride and the morning coolness burns away, replaced by warmth that makes sweat prickle at the back of my neck. My shirt sticks to my back under my armor.

Garrett calls for a stop near a stream around midday. Our horses need water and rest. Honestly, so do we. We water the horses and refill our canteens.

The small river is cold and clear, running over smooth stones. Garrett produces bread and cheese from his saddlebag, dividing it between us without asking. The bread is slightly stale, but the cheese is sharp and crumbly. I eat standing up while watching the road. My eyes scan the tree line, the curve of the stream, looking for movement and anything out of place.

Garrett sits on a fallen log, tilting his face up to the sun. His eyes close and for a moment he looks peaceful. The worry lines smooth from his face.

“Do you ever relax, Wolf?” he asks, eyes still closed.

“No.”

“Never?”

“That’s how you die.”