Page 76 of Iron Beneath the Snow

Soren stood over the body for a moment without speaking.

The mist still clung low to the ground, softening the outline of stone and pine without diminishing what lay at his feet. Blood had already sunk into the damp soil, darkening it to a depth that no longer reflected light.

His second knelt nearby, studying the wound with the kind of focus that came from long familiarity rather than urgency.

“There’s no hesitation in it,” he said quietly, tracing the line of the cut without touching it. “Whoever did this knew exactly how far to take it.”

Soren’s gaze remained on the body.

“Yes.”

There had been no attempt to disguise the placement either. The distance from the boundary, the visibility of the path, the likelihood of early discovery—none of it suggested chance.

“They expected us to find him quickly,” Soren said after a moment.

His second looked up.

“And to answer.”

Soren let the thought remain between them long enough to be understood without elaboration.

“You think it came from Vargan,” the other wolf said.

“Yes.”

“He said he wouldn’t advance.”

“He said he wouldn’t do so openly.”

His second rose, brushing his hands against his cloak as he considered that.

“And this is what passes for restraint.”

Soren did not correct him.

His attention shifted briefly across the ridge, taking in the line of trees, the slope beyond, the paths that crossed just out of sight.

“Pull patrols inward,” he said. “Double rotation along the southern ridge.”

“And Frostvein?”

“We watch them long enough to see what they expect from this.”

His second hesitated, not in disagreement, but in calculation.

“And if this continues?”

“Then we decide how far it goes.”

The answer came without urgency, but with enough clarity to close the question.

His second inclined his head.

“And the hall?”

“Stays as it is.”

Another pause, smaller this time.