My desk is buried in old guard logs and incident records. Most of the reports are dull, rotations, late submissions, misplaced gear.
I power through anyway. I’m looking for a name, a pattern, something buried deep enough that only someone with time and reason would find it.
If Lady Chantarelle was actually involved in the assassination attempt, she would have some tie to the original mole. I keep looking, going through every document at my disposal. Alone, each document says nothing, bogether, they tell a different story.
He was frequently assigned to the East Wing during Lady Chantarelle’s first season at court. At first, the postings seem coincidental, but the dates line up.
Over a three-month span, he served in that corridor twice as often as any other guard. It isn’t just a quirk
