The residence did not look like a fortress.
That was the first lie it told.
It sat on a high shoulder of the buffer country like a forgotten scholarly retreat—stone walls weathered soft by years of wind, narrow windows, a slate roof dark with old rain. No banners. No visible patrols. Only a single pale track leading up through scrub and broken rock, and the kind of silence that made the ear work too hard. From a distance it could have been empty for a decade.
Through the bond, Tristan’s attention sharpened into a blade.
“Residue is thick,” one of the trackers said quietly from the forward observation point. “Stronger than the mining complex. He’s been here long enough to soak the stone.”
“Defenses?” Tristan asked.
“Nothing conventional at the outer line. No heat signatures in the imm
