The warrior who found him was barely nineteen, a quiet, steady young man named Soren who'd drawn the river's fourth watch, the deep hours before dawn when most of the pack slept and only the truly disciplined stayed sharp. He came for me himself rather than sending a runner, who told me, before he said a word, that whatever he'd seen had frightened him enough to want a second set of eyes he trusted.
"There's someone in the water," he said, breathless from running. "Alone. Doing something with a blade. I didn't approach. You said to come to you first if anything looks wrong."
I was dressed and moving within minutes, Rhys beside me, Idris close behind, the three of us crossing the dark space toward the river with the kind of urgent quiet that came from years of learning exactly how to move
