Patrick had not yet moved when Lucas stopped him with a raised hand.
"Not yet," Lucas said quietly.
He reopened the alchemical box and reached beneath the padded lining, withdrawing a small velvet pouch. From it, he poured a cluster of dull metal spheres into his palm. They were no larger than plums, seamless and matte, each etched faintly with sigils so fine they were almost invisible unless the light struck them at an angle.
Patrick studied them without touching.
"And these?" he asked.
Lucas weighed one in his hand before passing it over. "About ten in total. Scatter them around their base encampment. Near cook fires. Between supply stacks. Along the inner perimeter where men gather before formation."
Tom frowned slightly. "What do they do?"
Lucas' expression hardened, not with cruelty, but with grim necessity.
