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Night folded over Monarch Mountain like a soft cloak. Torches ringed the upper terraces. Their light ran along the stone in quiet streams. The halls breathed in a slow rhythm. Far below, the desert kept its own long breath. Inside the mountain every room had a purpose and every purpose kept time.
On the highest ledges Silvershadow finished the watch roster with a bit of charcoal on a slate. He stood straight, a tall figure with a habit of listening to things other people never heard.
"The second ring takes the west ridge until moon peak," he said. "The third ring shifts to the eastern teeth. No chases. No hero work. If you see something you cannot fold into your pocket, you call."
Shadeclaw leaned against the parapet and looked down the black slope. His voice was low enough to make the stone listen.
"Orders heard," he said. "I am taking the south cut with two runners. If a dune cat sneezes I will know which nostril."
