They were led through a quieter corridor and into secluded room in the end with two guards at the door.

  It was an administrative chamber that was broad, high-ceilinged, and orderly in a way the rest of the city no longer was. A heavy wooden desk dominated the center, its surface crowded with maps weighted down by inkstones. Colored markers traced troop movements and routes across parchment seas and forested borders.

  A war room.

  Grimm shifted from the rafters and settled back onto Barrett’s shoulder as they entered. No one commented on the raven. Bonds between warrior and beast were not unusual here, it seemed.

  Barrett’s mouth curved upward.

  Darryl noticed.

  “Something amusing, Sir Donovan?” the Lord Commander asked, pausing just inside the doorway.

  Barrett gave the map an appreciative once-over. “I’ve always wanted to stand in a room with a giant map in the middle and make battle plans.”

  A faint, reluctant smile tugged at Darryl’s beard. “Ah.”

  Amelia stepped forward as if to follow him inside, but the Lord Commander raised a hand and gently halted her with a quiet shake of his head.

  He turned back to Barrett, offering a polite smile.

  “Make yourself comfortable, Sir Donovan,” he said. “If you don’t mind, Lady Rax Cleef and I need to take care of a brief matter. We’ll be back shortly.”

  Barrett gave an easy nod.

  “Take your time.”

  The commander inclined his head once more before guiding Amelia back out into the hall. The door closed behind them with a soft, deliberate click.

  —

  Silence settled over the room again.

  Barrett remained where he was for a moment, listening to their footsteps fade down the corridor, until he was certain he had been left alone.

  Barrett wandered slowly around the room, taking everything in with a patient curiosity.

  Grimm shifted on his shoulder as he moved, the raven’s talons lightly gripping the fabric of Barrett’s shirt. The bird tilted its head now and then, red eyes flicking across the chamber as if conducting an inspection of its own.

  Barrett paused beside the large desk.

  A map dominated the surface, stretched across the wood and held down at the corners with inkstones. Inked coastlines curved across the parchment, the island rendered in careful strokes, its forests, rivers, and mountains marked with practiced precision.

  He leaned over it, resting one hand on the desk.

  The island was far larger than he had imagined.

  Clusters of markings dotted the parchment, with small symbols placed along the coast and scattered inward across the terrain. Most were near the outer edges of the island, close to the sea.

  Warp points.

  That made sense. If newcomers appeared closer to the shore, it would give them a better chance of surviving their first days. After all, it was where most of the human villages were, and it was farthest away from goblins and other beasts.

  Barrett’s gaze drifted slowly inward.

  Near the mountains he found a mark that made him pause.

  That was his.

  One of the few points set deeper toward the island’s center.

  “Huh,” he murmured.

  Nearby was another mark. This one etched with the symbol of a white falcon. It sat not far from his own position, close enough that he wondered which group had emerged there.

  He followed the map further inward until his eyes reached the dense green sprawl labeled Central Forest.

  In its middle lay a small clearing surrounded by water. A lake formed a natural ring around a patch of land.

  Rebby’s people.

  The memory flickered through his mind, brief but vivid.

  Barrett’s eyes moved again, sweeping across the parchment toward the opposite side of the island.

  There, the markings grew sparse.

  A wide stretch of land that could only belong to the orcs.

  Not much information had been gathered there. Either no one had survived long enough to record it, or the humans simply didn’t know.

  His brow furrowed slightly.

  Eidel’s warp point wasn’t marked anywhere.

  She had told him roughly where it should have been, but the map showed nothing in that region. Made sense. After all, that information had never reached EverGreen.

  Barrett straightened slowly.

  Finally his eyes settled on the coastline again, where the port city of EverGreen had been drawn in neat lines and careful shading.

  Even in ink, the place looked impressive.

  The city sat on a narrow extension of land, its white walls forming a protective ring around the harbor. A thin strip of earth connected it to the rest of the island like a natural bridge.

  “Damn, now that’s a fort,” Barrett muttered under his breath.

  But his gaze lingered on the harbor. Without any ships, and only that narrow stretch of land…

  “Or a prison.”

  He exhaled quietly and pushed himself away from the desk.

  Grimm gave a small chirp from his shoulder.

  The sound was soft, but it eased something tight in Barrett’s chest. He glanced sideways at the bird.

  “Thanks, buddy,” he murmured.

  Grimm tilted his head.

  Barrett walked slowly around the rest of the room, hands resting on his hips now.

  “We’re really in it now,” he said under his breath.

  His thoughts churned.

  How strong were the people here? Not just in this city, but across the island…and on the continent beyond.

  Had he made the right call throwing his lot in with the Handomeans?

  From what little he’d gathered, the name rang bells. Unfortunately, from what he could tell, they were warning bells and not the welcoming ones.

  He thought of Maku. Of the others still out there in the forest.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Of Baha and Tanya—wherever they had ended up.

  And then the image returned to him of the massive orc host tightening its grip around the walls of EverGreen.

  Too many problems.

  Barrett let out a long breath.

  There was only one thing he knew how to do when his head got like this.

  He dropped to the floor and started doing push-ups.

  Up.

  Down.

  Up.

  Down.

  The rhythm came naturally, his arms pumping in steady cadence as his muscles warmed. Blood surged through him, heart pounding louder with each repetition.

  Sweat began to bead along his brow.

  That quieted the noise in his mind better than any meditation ever had.

  After a while he rolled onto his back and slid his boots beneath the heavy couch, beginning a set of sit-ups. His core tightened and released in smooth repetitions.

  When he finished, he stood again and moved into squats.

  But after a few sets he frowned.

  His strength had climbed so far beyond what it used to be that bodyweight exercises barely scratched the surface anymore.

  “Damn it,” he muttered. “Need some resistance.”

  He glanced around the room until his eyes landed on two large ceramic water jars sitting near the wall.

  An idea formed.

  Barrett grabbed his oversized sword and laid it across the floor. He rolled up a thick rug from the room and wrapped it around the blade so the ceramic wouldn’t shatter. Then he hung one jar on each end like makeshift weights.

  It looked ridiculous.

  He lifted the improvised bar across his shoulders and began squatting again, the jars sloshing faintly with each controlled movement.

  Even that wasn’t quite enough. So he challenged himself to go as slowly as possible and keep the water as still as he could.

  He was feeling the burn now, but he still wanted more.

  He had just started scanning the room for more weight when the door behind him gave a soft click.

  Barrett lowered slowly and turned.

  The Lord Commander stepped inside.

  Amelia followed close behind.

  —

  They stopped just inside the doorway.

  For a moment, neither of them spoke.

  Barrett stood in the middle of the room in the middle of a squat, his enormous sword balanced across his shoulders like a barbell. Two large water jars hung from either end, sloshing slightly with the motion. His legs were bent, muscles taut, frozen halfway through the lift as he realized he now had an audience.

  Amelia stared.

  The Lord Commander stared.

  Barrett prayed that his flexed glutes and quads would show through his camo pants.

  Silence stretched awkwardly between them.

  Barrett slowly straightened, then carefully lowered the improvised contraption to the floor. He set the jars aside, unwrapped the rug from the blade, and slid the massive sword back across his back as though none of this were particularly unusual.

  He cleared his throat.

  “Just trying to squeeze in a quick workout,” Barrett said, offering an easy grin as he rolled his shoulders.

  “Of course…of course,” the Lord Commander replied, blinking once before regaining his composure.

  The Lord Commander stepped in last and shut the door with a firm click, sealing the three of them inside.

  Amelia had said little since they left the courtyard, but now she looked even more disinterested and refused to make eye contact. Whatever lightness she had shown earlier had cooled. Since the mention of the Handomeans, her interest in him had shifted.

  Barrett noticed.

  Darryl moved to a side table where a tray of cups waited. He poured dark liquid into three of them with steady hands that did not quite hide the tension beneath.

  “Please,” he said, gesturing toward a corner of the room. “You can set your weapon aside and make yourself comfortable.”

  Barrett laughed softly. “I’d rather keep it on. It’s my security blanket.”

  Across the room, Grimm’s eyes gave him an interesting vantage point. Through the raven’s watchful gaze, he saw Amelia studying him. No longer checking him out. It was closer to an ocular pat-down.

  Darryl crossed the room and handed Barrett a cup.

  “Drink, Sir Donovan. You must be exhausted from your journey.”

  Up close, the strain showed more clearly, and the nerves. Barrett wondered at that for a moment. But then disregarded it, after all, the man was balancing siege preparations, refugee unrest, and now an unexpected power walking into his command center claiming allegiance to one of the most controversial houses in the League. He had every right to be nervous.

  Barrett accepted the cup with a nod. “Thank you.”

  For a moment, the three of them simply regarded one another over the rim of their drinks.

  “You can relax,” Barrett said at last. “I come in peace.”

  Darryl forced a short laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  Amelia, however, continued to watch him in silence.

  Then she inclined her head slightly.

  “Yes…well.” She cleared her throat delicately. “By League protocol, given your declaration and rank…you are technically the highest-ranking authority in this city.”

  Barrett blinked.

  “Of course,” he said quickly, nodding as though that were entirely expected.

  Darryl and Amelia exchanged a look.

  Barrett drifted toward the window, cup in hand, and looked out over EverGreen.

  The sun blazed high, pouring light across the white walls and cobbled streets. The harbor shimmered like scattered diamonds, though the docks stood bare, stripped of their ships.

  It was a beautiful day.

  The kind that almost made Barrett forget a war was gathering just out of sight.

  He sighed.

  “I won’t waste your time,” Barrett said at last, turning from the window. “I need your help getting the rest of my team inside these walls.”

  “The…rest?” the Lord Commander echoed, the words catching slightly in his throat.

  Barrett nodded, unbothered. “Don’t look so worried. We’re not exactly dead weight. There’s some serious firepower out there.” A low laugh rumbled from him. “Once they’re here, we can help you hold this place.”

  Amelia tilted her head, silver braid sliding across one shoulder. “The rest of your team,” she repeated thoughtfully. “Are there…others, from your team…in this city?”

  She watched him closely.

  Barrett’s grin deepened, almost predatory. “Maybe.” He gave her a wink before remembering, a beat too late, that the bandana still covered his eyes.

  “Sir Donovan,” Amelia said coolly, though her voice remained smooth, “this isn’t a game. If we’re to work together—if you are to lead here—then you must trust us.”

  Grimm shifted on Barrett’s shoulder, claws tightening slightly in fabric as he fixed Amelia with an unblinking stare.

  “Give it time,” Barrett replied, taking a slow sip from his cup. “You and I will be best friends soon enough. No need to rush these things.”

  Amelia studied him in silence, clearly unconvinced.

  Darryl cleared his throat, drawing the moment back.

  “Sir Donovan,” he said carefully, “as for your request…I’m afraid we can’t help you.”

  Barrett’s brow lifted beneath the cloth. “And why not?”

  “Have you looked beyond these walls?” Amelia asked, gesturing toward the window. “We are surrounded.”

  “Then we take a ship,” Barrett said simply.

  “There are no ships,” she replied sharply. “Look for yourself. The harbor is empty.”

  Barrett extended his awareness through Grimm’s vantage, scanning the docks below. Bare piers. Empty moorings.

  He nodded slowly. “Damn,” he muttered. “So it’s true. I was hoping they were just hiding in some dry docks.”

  “The fleet departed,” Amelia explained, her voice tightening just slightly. “Elric and the others left to gather survivors from other coasts.”

  “Are they coming back?” Barrett asked.

  A flicker of uncertainty crossed her expression. “They should have returned by now. We’ve received no word.”

  Barrett absorbed that in silence and took a longer drink than before, more absentmindedly this time. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “So we’re sealed in,” he said quietly. “Until those ships return.”

  Both Darryl and Amelia nodded.

  Barrett turned back toward the window, staring out over the bright water. “Wonder if we could just swim it,” he murmured lightly.

  The day outside was almost offensively pleasant. Sun warm. Sky clear. The kind of afternoon that didn’t belong to sieges.

  A strange heaviness began to settle behind his eyes.

  He blinked once.

  Twice.

  The room seemed softer at the edges.

  Then he heard a click near the door as it opened.

  When he turned back around, Darryl no longer held a cup. He held steel.

  More figures had entered the office in silence, weapons drawn, spreading to block the exits.

  “Da hell…?” Barrett muttered, his words beginning to blur at the edges.

  “Apologies, Sir Donovan,” Darryl said, though the tone held no apology now. “We cannot allow this fortress to fall into Handomean control.”

  They advanced cautiously.

  Amelia stood among them, and of them all she looked the least certain.

  Barrett gave a faint, lopsided laugh, fighting the pull dragging at his consciousness. “Funny,” he murmured. “Thought you were checking me out earlier.”

  Her lips pressed together. “I am sorry.”

  The floor felt unsteady beneath him. The weight in his limbs deepened.

  He drew in one last breath of clarity.

  “Griimmmm,” he slurred.

  “The bird!” Darryl barked.

  Grimm launched instantly, wings snapping open as he streaked toward the window.

  Barrett staggered backward, then braced himself against the sill. The cool air hit his face.

  He lifted one wavering finger toward Amelia.

  “You,” he managed, vision tunneling. “You have…”

  She leaned forward despite herself, eyes locked on him.

  “…nice wide lats.”

  And then, with the last of his strength, Barrett tipped backward out the window and vanished into open air.

  —Amelia—

  Amelia reached the window in three long strides and leaned out into the open air.

  The sunlight struck her full in the face, bright and warm, almost offensively peaceful. Far below, the harbor glittered in gold and blue, the wind moving across its surface in gentle ripples.

  There was no body.

  No broken form on the cobbles.

  Only the dark shape of a raven cutting across the sky, wings beating steadily as it circled once before banking toward the rooftops.

  “He used a location-replacement skill,” Amelia said, her voice steadier than she felt. “Probably swapped positions with the bird.”

  “Impossible,” one of the guards muttered from behind her. “A skill like that requires at least level twenty.”

  Behind her, boots shifted against the stone floor.

  The Lord Commander stepped up beside her and glanced down, then away, as if the matter were already concluded. “No matter,” he said gruffly. “That poison was potent enough to drop a warhorse. Fool drank enough for ten men.”

  Amelia straightened slowly.

  Yes. She had watched him drink it. Watched him swallow without suspicion.

  She folded her arms, though the gesture felt more like bracing herself than composure.

  “Why did he have to be Handomean?” she murmured.

  Darryl did not answer.

  The silence between them stretched.

  Amelia turned her gaze back toward the horizon.

  It truly was a beautiful day. The sort of day meant for laughter at the beach, not poison in wine and betrayal behind closed doors.

  For a moment, her thoughts returned to the man who had stood here only moments before. Without realizing it, she drew a slow breath, as though the air might still hold some faint trace of him.

  The image came unbidden.

  Broad shoulders. A sculpted rear outlined beneath those forest-colored trousers. Legs like the trunks of ancient trees planted firmly in the stone.

  Amelia exhaled slowly, almost annoyed with herself.

  Did he have to be so unbearably handsome?