Ronan
The council chamber reeks of tension. Stone walls hold the heat of too many bodies pressed too close, voices raised in teeth-bared argument. Torches gutter, throwing sharp light across faces I know too well.
My inner circle, my hunters, my challengers. Tonight they look more like a pack of vultures than the backbone of Blackthorn.
The ledger sits open in front of me, ink scrawled by hands I trust less every passing day. Supplies missing. Rations gone. Crossbows that should’ve been at the border outpost, vanished. Patrol logs altered to make it look like nothing’s wrong.
Every instinct in me screams a name. Loran. But instinct isn’t proof. And proof is the only thing that can keep this council from turning on itself like rabid dogs.
I stand at the head of the table, my hands bra
