The silence had settled thickly, like dust in a forgotten room. The men sat still, their gazes fixed on the map sprawled across the table, but their minds clearly not keeping pace. Alpheo didn't rush them—he simply watched, fingers drumming once on the wood, his rod resting idle by his hand. These were his finest men, his most trusted, the ones who could usually read between lines with him. But tonight, the spark hadn't quite caught.
A minute passed. Then another.
Alpheo blinked slowly, then sighed—not out of frustration, but resignation. Perhaps he hadn't nudged them hard enough.
"They've positioned themselves," he said quietly, voice slicing through the stillness, "in the perfect way to be entrapped."
Several heads turned. Confused glances passed. A few eyes darted toward the edge of the map, then back to the center.
