LUCIAN
The jeep screeches to a halt just outside the pack house. The tires are still groaning when I push the door open. Dirt clings to my boots, the ugly scent of war still lingering on all of us.
Theron steps down beside me, one arm clutching the sealed scroll tightly. Hayes follows him. The others, warriors, scouts, and trackers, cluster behind us, their eyes sunken but sharp, the adrenaline not yet gone.
I don't wait for anyone to speak.
“Theron,” I bark, not looking back. “Secure the scroll in the vault. Not the eastern wing, move it to the cold chamber. I want runes etched around it by dawn.”
He nods once. “Understood.”
“Hayes,” I turn to him. “Double border patrol tonight. Rotate the western watch. No one sleeps.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t protest. “Consider it done
