Rowan
The second attack happened three nights later. Not on Blackridge territory. Calloway. Which meant whoever was behind this wasn’t testing borders randomly anymore. They were escalating. I stood over the war table in the council room while another scout pointed toward the eastern ridge line with shaking fingers.
“Three patrol members were injured,” he reported. “No fatalities.”
“Yet.” The word lingered unspoken in the room anyway. “What did they hit?” I asked.
“Supply route.” He frowned. Of course, they did. Calculated again. Not reckless violence. Strategic pressure. The half-moon faction, whatever they truly called themselves, was probing weaknesses carefully instead of launching openly. Which made them far more dangerous.
“They’re targeting Calloway more heavily now.” One of
