Debts. Obligations. Promissory notes.
The ledger looked ordinary, just ink on parchment, but it felt heavier than stone in Tristan's hands.
Numbers stretched across the page in neat rows: payments owed for warding stones, the patrol wages, the food stores, the oil for the lamps, and repairs to the fences. Every line reminded him of how much had been left unsettled.
Kim stood with his arms folded, watching. Mira leaned against the window frame, quiet but sharp-eyed. Shannon was at the far end of the table, steady and calm, not pressing Tristan, only waiting.
"These are the debts," Kim said. "Security patrols, ward maintenance, and the supply lines we kept open while the manor was struggling."
Mira added, "The warding stones too. We fed them ourselves on credit. Stones don't hold if no one cares for them."
Tristan frowned. "Fed them?"
