The council chamber felt colder than usual, though the flames roared in the hearth. Zaria sat at the head of the table, her shoulders squared, her eyes sharp. Before her lay maps of the southern border, old train yards marked in red ink, each circle a guess at where Drevon might be hiding.
Her circle was gathered, but the air was thick with unease.
Enric leaned forward, claws tapping against the wood. “We should strike now. Hit them hard, burn everything in sight. It doesn’t matter if the rogue lied, we’ll flush him out.”
Clara shifted in her seat, her voice careful. “Charging in without certainty could be suicide. What if it’s a trap?”
“It’s always a trap,” Liora muttered, twirling her blade with casual ease. “That’s the point. The question is whether we spring it or turn it against h
