Peace did not arrive loudly.
It didn’t come with trumpets or proclamations or some grand declaration from the Alpha balcony.
It came in small, almost forgettable moments that stitched themselves together until someone finally noticed the pattern.
Like this morning.
Caleb stood in the courtyard, watching Alden and Rowan argue over patrol routes like brothers instead of rivals. Their voices weren’t sharp. Their stances weren’t defensive.
They were building something.
“You’re stretching the eastern rotation too thin,” Rowan said, pointing at the map spread across the table.
Alden crossed his arms. “Only if the river stays high. It’s dropping.”
Rowan squinted at the markings, then nodded reluctantly. “Fine. But double scouts at dusk.”
“Agreed,” Alden said immediately.
No ego.
No pow
