The lockbox looked like it had been pulled from a grave. Its iron sides were eaten with rust, hinges stiff, a faint sour smell clinging to it. Nathan carried it into the strategy room and set it on the war table, his gloved hands deliberate. Richard and I leaned in while he worked the lid open with careful pressure. The squeal of the hinge sounded too loud for the hour.
Inside, wrapped in a mildewed cloth, was a seal. Bronze, dulled with time, but the lines were still visible. A circle carved through with jagged intersecting lines, the sigil I had seen in fragments before. The Hollow Council. I reached out without thinking. Richard caught my wrist gently before I touched it.
Nathan slid a vial of tracer ink from his coat. “We tag it now. Anyone who tries to move it will be marked.” He br
