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“Let me show you something.” Ryneth dropped his bag on the kitchen island and pulled out a large sheet of paper.

“You’re an artist now?”

Sticking out his tongue, he turned the paper around. “Not me. Cyprian. Look what he made me.”

Daven’s eyes flicked toward the charcoal drawing on the counter.

Damn. That looked… ominous.

Then again, Cyprian’s drawings always did.

“He told me he had a vision,” Ryneth said softly.

“Is that Düren?”

Daven studied the charcoal lines. A wall cut straight across the page in a thick black stroke. On one side, a few figures stood in formation, sketched just clearly enough to make out the way they faced forward, keeping watch. Behind them, the outline of houses crowded close together, roofs and walls pressed into one another as if space had always been scarce.

Beyond the wall, the paper was almost untouched. Cyprian had drawn the line, the guards, the homes they protected, and then nothing beyond it. The empty stretch on the far side pulled at Daven more than anything else, because it felt less like unfinished space and more like something deliberately left out.

Above it all, a faint curve marked the outer ring, stretching across the sky like a silent boundary.

He lifted his eyes to Ryneth. “What’s on the other side of the wall?”

Ryneth swallowed. He didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. The sorrow in his eyes said enough. “You remember asking me what was on the other side of the wall?”

Daven nodded. Of course he did. Ryneth’s answer had haunted him for the entire night.

Nothing.

“Nothing,” Ryneth whispered, pointing at the drawing. “See? The Ward was the same way. One wall. One promise. They told us danger waited on the other side, so we guarded it. We believed it held everything back.”

“And now?” he asked.

Ryneth swallowed. “Now I look at Cyprian’s drawing and I see emptiness. And I think maybe the pressure was never there at all. Maybe it moved somewhere else. Maybe we were guarding the wrong thing.” He rubbed the back of his neck and gave a short laugh. “Or maybe I’m just overthinking things.”

“Explain.”

Ryneth nodded toward the drawing again. “If Concordant and Attica are working together… then Attica’s what everyone sees. They’re loud. Easy to blame. Easy to fear.” He tapped the page. “But Concordant moves through systems. Trade. Infrastructure.”

Daven watched him for a moment. “More people disappeared again this week,” he said. “And Yure thought that night by the tunnel they’d already set something in motion. Something bigger.”

Ryneth looked back at the drawing. “Then maybe Attica’s the distraction.”

Daven studied him. “You think Concordant avoids direct impact.”

“I think they’d rather move the pressure somewhere else.”

“And what happens when redirection fails?”

Ryneth looked at him. Really looked at him. “Then the storm hits.”

Daven’s mouth curved again, slower this time. “Good.”

“Good?”

“Yes.” Daven’s voice dropped. “Storms make it obvious what was already weak.”

Ryneth held his gaze. “And if Helion’s foundation cracks?”