Aria’s POV
Word came downriver before the knife sank.
The trader’s boat again. No salt this time. No cloth. Just a rolled piece of bark tied with blue thread. Same blue as Coren’s map. Same blue as downriver Mara’s cloth.
He didn’t unload. He just set the bark on Sen’s table, beside the staff with new leaves.
“Wardens,” he said. “Downriver market. They heard about the staff.
About the stones. About the knife that rests.” He untied the thread. “They sent this. Not orders. A question.”
Coren opened it. Bark, not paper. Charcoal marks. No lines. No borders. Just a circle. Empty. And one word scratched underneath: _Why?_
Not _Where is the steel?_ Not _Retrieve the Debt._ Just _Why?_
Ridah stared at it longer than she stared at the knife. Her hand still on the roots and cloth.
“
