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Chapter 61 – Now is the time to speak.
Elira's hand stayed near the hilt of the dagger at her waist—not in open threat, but in readiness. The heat of the forge pulsed around them, the rhythmic clang of the workers outside faint but steady. Inside this quiet chamber, however, the air was razor-thin.
"Careful, Kairo," she said evenly. "Comparisons like that have a way of ending conversations."
His expression didn't change. If anything, the shadows on his face sharpened. "You burned records," he said, voice low. "Not just scraps of paper—strategic reports, trade routes. I felt the smoke from half the corridor away."
"They weren't yours to keep," she countered. "And they were better off destroyed than ending up in Vale's hands."
"Vale isn't the only one who wanted them," he shot back, taking another step forward. The faint metallic scent of ash clung to his coat, mixing with the forge-smoke. "Do you have any idea what you might've just cost us?"
Elira refused to back down, though his nearness made her pulse quicken—not with fear, but with something sharper. "Do you have any idea what Vale would've done with them?" she retorted. "You think I don't weigh risks? You think I'm careless?"
"I think," Kairo said softly, "you don't trust me enough to tell me what you're really doing."
The words landed heavier than an accusation. He wasn't angry—not yet. He was watching, searching, measuring the space between them like a blade measuring its target.
Elira forced herself to keep her voice steady. "If I told you everything, would you even hear me? Or would you only hear what fits into that perfect little order you carry in your head?"
Kairo's jaw tightened. He reached past her, slamming the furnace door shut with a single motion. Sparks hissed inside, trapped. "Try me."
For a heartbeat, Elira thought of lying. A simple, neat lie would get her out of this chamber, maybe even buy her an hour's peace. But she remembered Aiden's cold eyes, Vale's bitter smile, and the way this forge had once been a place of safety before it turned into another battlefield.
"I destroyed the shipment manifests," she said finally. "Not just this week's—last month's too."
Kairo stilled. His eyes, dark and unyielding, locked on hers. "Those maps were the only trace of where the weapons have been moving. Now we're blind."
"Better blind than betrayed," she said sharply. "Someone in your circle is leaking information. You think I don't notice patterns? Those routes were already compromised."
The silence that followed was not calm—it was alive, brittle, on the edge of breaking.
Kairo exhaled slowly, like a man trying to hold back a storm. "Name them."
"If I had proof, I would," Elira snapped. "But right now, all I have are threads. Threads I'm not letting Vale weave into a noose for all of us."
Something unreadable passed through his gaze—anger, yes, but also a flicker of reluctant understanding. He stepped back, just enough for her to breathe again, but his voice stayed cold.
"You're walking a thin line, Elira. Burn the wrong thing, hide the wrong truth… and you'll make enemies faster than you can count."
"I already have enemies," she said quietly. "The difference is, I know which ones deserve the fire."
The forge door rattled faintly as a draft swept through, carrying the scent of scorched parchment. Outside, someone called for Kairo—urgent, insistent.
He didn't move immediately. His gaze lingered on her, as if trying to decide whether to trust her instincts or crush them under his own authority.
"This isn't over," he said finally, voice like tempered steel. Then he turned and strode out, leaving the heavy silence behind.
Elira stayed where she was, pulse still racing, watching the door swing shut. In the stillness, the faint glow of the furnace seemed to pulse with her thoughts.
She hadn't told him everything.
She couldn't.
Because what she had found, buried deep in those manifests before the flames consumed them, wasn't just a leak.
It was a name.
And it wasn't Vale's.
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The door had barely clicked shut when Elira moved. She crossed to the far wall, pressing her palm against a narrow seam of stone until the concealed latch gave way. A small compartment opened—empty, save for a single folded scrap of parchment she hadn't dared burn.
The name was written in quick, tight script. No insignia. No seal. Just one word.
Lysander.
She stared at it until the letters blurred. Lysander had been loyal to Kairo for years—or at least, that was what everyone believed. The quiet strategist, the man who rarely spoke unless he had something worth saying, who stayed two steps behind Kairo in council meetings and never sought recognition.
If he was the leak… it explained too much. And yet—why?
A knock at the door jerked her back to the present. Not Kairo's commanding rap—softer, cautious. She slipped the scrap back into the compartment and shut it before answering.
"Come in."
The door creaked open, revealing Aeryn, soot-smudged and winded from the forge floor. "He's calling for you," she said in a low voice. "There's been an incident at the lower gates. He wants everyone on the council there now."
Elira masked her unease with a curt nod. "I'll be there."
As Aeryn turned to leave, Elira caught her sleeve. "Who else has heard?"
"Only the watch captain. They're trying to contain it before word spreads." Aeryn hesitated. "Elira… whatever you and Kairo were arguing about, be careful. He's… not himself lately."
Elira let her go without answering. Not himself was an understatement. Since Vale's rise in the western quarter, Kairo had been on edge—calculating, colder, as if every ally was a potential traitor.
Which meant if Elira accused Lysander now, without proof, she'd risk being treated as just another schemer with an agenda.
She followed the narrow staircase out of the forge, boots echoing against the worn stone. The lower gate lay in shadow, torches burning low, soldiers clustered tight. Kairo stood at the center, his coat flaring in the night wind, speaking in clipped commands.
When he saw her, his gaze flicked to hers—sharp, questioning, unreadable.
"Good," he said briskly. "You're here. Someone tried to force the gate. They failed, but they left something behind."
He gestured, and the watch captain stepped forward holding a satchel. The leather was scorched, edges charred, but the seal on the clasp was still visible.
Elira's breath caught. The seal was a wolf's head wreathed in iron vines.
Not Vale's mark.
Not any mark she recognized.
Kairo's voice was calm, but his eyes were storm-dark. "Tell me, Elira. You've seen more of these schemes than most. Whose signature is this?"
She stepped closer, kneeling to study the satchel under torchlight. The emblem was clean, deliberate—not a mercenary's scrawl, but something older, rooted.
"No one I know," she said truthfully, though her mind raced. "But whoever they are, they're organized. And bold enough to test your gates."
Kairo searched her face, as if trying to read what she wasn't saying. "You're holding something back."
Elira didn't flinch. "So are you."
The torches hissed in the night wind. Around them, the soldiers kept a respectful distance, but the tension in the air was coiled, ready to snap.
"Inside," Kairo ordered finally. "Now. All of you."
As the council filed toward the inner keep, Elira glanced back at the satchel, the unknown seal glinting in the dark.
But in her mind, the name on the hidden scrap burned hotter than any torch.
Lysander.
---
The council chamber smelled faintly of oil and steel, a reminder that Kairo's seat of power had been built for war, not comfort. The long table gleamed under torchlight, and every chair was filled—Lysander among them, calm as ever, fingers steepled as though he'd been expecting this call to arms.
Kairo didn't sit. He stood at the head of the table, eyes sweeping the room like a blade. "Someone tested our gates tonight. They failed, but they left their mark."
The charred satchel lay open on the table, its strange seal catching the light. Murmurs rippled among the councilors.
"Who would dare strike here?" one asked.
"Vale?" another offered cautiously.
Kairo's gaze silenced them. "This isn't Vale. He flaunts his power. Whoever this is—" he tapped the seal with one gloved finger "—they prefer shadows."
Elira kept her expression neutral, though her stomach knotted. Lysander hadn't looked at the satchel once. He didn't need to—he already knew what Kairo would say.
"The inner quarters will double their watch rotations," Kairo continued. "Supply routes will be checked daily. And if anyone here has information they've kept to themselves…" His gaze hardened. "…now is the time to speak."
Silence.
Not even Lysander shifted in his seat.
Elira forced herself to glance away before Kairo noticed she was watching him too closely. Her fingers brushed the edge of the table. That scrap of parchment in the forge felt like a brand in her pocket even though she'd hidden it.
"Very well," Kairo said at last, voice cold enough to frost steel. "If no one speaks, I'll assume loyalty. But I warn you—" his eyes swept across every face in the room, resting briefly on Lysander's, "—I will not tolerate betrayal."
When the meeting adjourned, councilors filed out in tight groups, whispering. Only Lysander lingered near the table, scanning the map Kairo had unrolled.
Elira hung back in the shadows, watching. He didn't seem nervous. Didn't even look up. As if the entire confrontation had meant nothing to him.
She moved closer, quiet as breath. "Long night," she said evenly.
Lysander gave a faint smile. "Longer for Kairo. He hates unknown enemies."
"And you?" she asked, tilting her head. "Do you hate them?"
"Depends who they are." He folded the map with unhurried precision. "Sometimes an enemy is just a mirror you haven't looked into yet."
Their eyes met. A flicker of something unreadable passed between them—challenge, or warning. Then he turned and walked out, boots echoing against the stone floor.
Elira stayed behind, staring at the satchel's strange seal still glinting on the table. Her pulse was steady, but her thoughts were not.
If Lysander really was the leak, he was either confident no one could prove it… or he had allies powerful enough to protect him.
Either way, Kairo would never take her word for it. She needed more than suspicion. She needed proof.
She pushed away from the table, determination hardening in her chest. Tonight she would start watching him. Not openly—Lysander was too careful for that. But if he had threads leading to Vale or to whoever marked that satchel, she'd find them.
Even if it meant lying to Kairo.
Even if it meant stepping deeper into the shadows herself.
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