The scent hit before the scouts did.
Smoke.
Sulfur.
And the faint metallic tang of blood.
Caesar's head snapped up from the training field. “Scouts. Imperial."
Sophia stood beside him, blade in hand. The chain between them had been gone for two days—but she hadn't stepped further than twenty paces since.
He turned to his second-in-command. “How many flares?"
“Two red, one silver," the scout panted. “They're using Arthur's seer."
Caesar's jaw clenched. “She's blood-guided. She'll find us."
Sophia touched his arm.
**We run?**
“No," he said grimly. “We scatter."
He turned to the camp. “Break formation! Evac pattern three. Take only what you need."
Dozens of exiles sprang into motion.
Sophia grabbed her satchel and joined Caesar near the edge of camp. His eyes were scanning the r
