The Threat in the Shadows
1184 Words
Aria
The first mistake is small. Most people would overlook it — a missing report, a patrol rotation that doesn’t match the written schedule, a messenger insisting he delivered orders no one received. Small things. Dangerous things. Because kingdoms don’t always fall through war. Sometimes they fall through confusion first.
Torin finds me in the records room, standing over the strategy table with three patrol logs spread open beneath my hands. His expression tightens immediately when he sees my face.
“What happened?” he asks.
“This patrol was sent east,” I say, tapping the first page. I move to the second. “This one was redirected south.” Then the third. “And this one was ordered to stand down entirely.”
Torin studies the reports carefully. The longer he looks, the harder his jaw tightens.
“That’s wrong.”
“I know.”
His gaze sharpens. “Who signed them?”
I rotate the final page toward him. The moment he sees the signature, his entire expression changes. Because the name written across
the bottom is his.
“I didn’t write this,” he says.
“I know.”
His eyes snap back to mine. “You’re sure?”
“If you had written it, the wording would be different.”
That stops him — only briefly. “You know my command style?”
“I know everyone’s command style.”
Silence settles between us before Torin exhales slowly. “Of course you do.”
I glance back down at the forged order. The handwriting is close — very close. Whoever copied it understood Torin’s phrasing, his
structure, even the way he marks military time beside his signature. But close is not perfect. And close is still enough to get people killed.
The door opens. Darius enters without knocking, his gaze sweeping from me to Torin to the spread‑out reports in a single, precise assessment.
“What did you find?” he asks.
“Someone forged Torin’s command.”
The room stills instantly. Darius doesn’t react outwardly, but I see the shift — the sharpening beneath the calm, the predator noticing
movement in the dark. He studies the report once, then again.
“Good copy,” he says.
“Not good enough.”
“No,” he agrees. “But it wasn’t meant to hold forever.”
Torin frowns. “What does that mean?”
“It was designed to create confusion quickly,” Darius says. “Long enough for one mistake.”
The words settle heavily in my stomach. One mistake. That’s all it would take right now — one wrong patrol, one abandoned gate,
one frightened reaction between already suspicious groups, one death. And everything we’re trying to stabilize fractures before the
kings even arrive.
A shout echoes sharply through the lower halls. Then another.
Torin moves first. Darius follows. I’m right behind them.
We reach the lower courtyard just as two warriors are being dragged apart — one wolf from our pack, one visiting vampire guard.
The vampire’s lip is split open. The wolf’s knuckles are bloodied. Around them, too many people have already gathered. Too fast.
Too eager.
This was never just a fight. It was a spark. And someone wanted it lit.
“What happened?” Torin demands.
The wolf jerks free from the warrior restraining him. “He insulted the pack.”
The vampire guard laughs coldly despite the blood on his chin. “I delivered the message I was given.”
“What message?” I ask.
Both males look toward me immediately. The vampire reaches into his coat and pulls out a folded piece of parchment.
“That your gamma ordered vampire patrols removed from the north gate because wolves no longer trusted outside guards near the
main house.”
Torin’s face goes dangerously flat. “I gave no such order.”
The wolf rounds on the vampire again. “Then why was I told the vampires refused to stand beside wolves?”
The courtyard erupts instantly — angry voices, rising tension, suspicion spreading like wildfire.
Two lies. Both aimed at pride. Both designed to provoke distrust. Both delivered where they would do the most damage.
“Enough,” I say.
My voice isn’t loud. It doesn’t need to be. The courtyard falls silent anyway.
I step between the wolf and the vampire. Neither moves away. Good. Let them see exactly where I stand — right in the middle.
“Who delivered the message?” I ask the vampire guard. “Describe them.”
“Hooded,” he says. “Smaller build. Voice disguised.”
I turn to the wolf. “And yours?”
“Same.”
Darius’s gaze sharpens. Torin mutters a curse. Realization spreads through the crowd — too slowly. Some still look for someone to
blame. That is the true danger. People hate uncertainty. Most would rather cling to a lie than sit inside confusion.
I lift the forged order into view. “This was not written by Torin.”
Murmurs ripple across the courtyard.
“This was not sent through our command,” I continue.
The vampire guard’s expression shifts — not anger now, but understanding.
“And the order given to the wolves was also false.”
I look across the gathered crowd. “Someone wants wolves and vampires suspicious of each other. Someone wants anger before truth
has time to catch up.”
Darius steps beside me. “What do you want done?”
The courtyard stills again. Because everyone hears what the question actually means. He isn’t taking command from me. He’s giving
it to me.
I turn to Torin. “Lock down all written orders.”
He nods immediately.
“No command moves without verbal confirmation from two ranked officers.”
“Yes.”
I hand the forged order to the vampire guard. “Take this directly to your commander. Tell them we are not removing vampire
support.”
Later, the crowd disperses. The two warriors are separated but not punished — not yet. This was manipulation, not rebellion.
Darius walks beside me beneath the shadowed archway leading toward the war room.
“You handled that well,” he says.
“I handled it late.”
“You caught it before blood spilled.”
“Barely.”
“Barely still counts.”
“Not forever.”
“No,” he agrees. “Not forever.”
Torin is already in the war room gathering every written command sent over the last two days. The stack is too large. Far too large.
This was never one forged order. This was coordinated.
I stare down at the forged parchment still in my hand. The ink has dried. The damage has not.
“Whoever did this knows our structure,” I say.
“And our weaknesses,” Darius adds.
I fold the parchment carefully. Once. Then again.
“Then we stop giving them any.”
Outside, the territory settles into uneasy silence.
Inside, war has already begun.
Not with claws. Not with blood. Not with fire.
With trust.
And someone has already started cutting through it.
- Writer
