Captain Roan was no stranger to pain. His scarred hands worked with the patience of a man who'd pried secrets from worse men in darker wars. Merran's cries echoed off the tide-cell walls, but no confession came.
Not of the Hollow Nine. Not of the shards.
His fear was too deep, too raw. The terror of betrayal outweighed the agony of broken skin and bruised bone.
(If I talk… I'm dead before dawn. They'll carve me from the inside out. Better to suffer now, better to bleed here than to betray the Nine.)
Up above, Khael stood with the others around the map spread across the table. The villagers whispered in anxious knots. Juno's fist still trembled with the memory of restraint. Kaen paced, restless fire flickering at his fingertips. Rael leaned against the wall like a blade waiting to be drawn. Lira and Ceyla watched the horizon, their silence more telling than words.
Khael's gaze never left the northern marks on the parchment.
