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“Did the scout inspect the seller’s stock?” I ask.

“Not without risking discovery.”

“Any other buyers?”

“Three after Fiona. Two purchased tea. One examined herbs and left.”

“Follow the stall’s deliveries. Do not seize anything.”

Joran’s violet eyes remain on me. “You think Fiona was the target.”

“I think Varrus placed an agent near a coerced friend and a merchant she was persuaded to use.”

“That is enough for warning.”

“Not enough to identify the threat.”

“She may know why Nessa redirected her.”

“If she knew, she would have acted.”

“You are certain?”

“Fiona has never hidden suspicion well when someone else is in danger.”

My decision to withhold the first message has produced the result Sarveth predicted. Fiona entered Lowtown without knowing Nessa had been threatened. Yet an open warning might have sent her to the same stall sooner and exposed the surveillance.

The calculation remains defensible.

It is no longer comfortable.

“Continue the watch,” I say. “I want the second K’sheng rider identified.”

“And Fiona?”

“I will speak with her after we know more.”

Joran rolls the report and returns it to its case. “We are due in the practice hall.”

“I am aware.”

He gives me the look he reserves for commands he considers unwise, though I have issued none.

We leave the war room.

The practice hall is cold enough for frost to remain between the floor stones. Weapon racks line the walls. Two braziers burn near the entrance, but their heat barely reaches the center ring.

Joran selects two blunted practice blades.

He hands one to me.

My forearm bracers are lighter than battlefield armor. Layered black leather protects the outer arm, while narrow gaps near the wrist allow movement. They are sufficient for controlled practice.

I test the blade’s balance.

“First touch?” Joran asks.

“First disarm.”