The spy network operated beneath the camp like roots beneath soil—unseen, essential, and tangled. Kael brought Elira into its edge, just deep enough to feel the chill.
The hidden chamber was buried beneath a storage tent, accessible only through a trapdoor sealed by a false floor. Lanterns lit the narrow tunnel, casting long shadows across stone walls etched with code.
Kael handed her a folded cloth. Inside was a patch of gray leather, the Veylan symbol stitched faintly in silver thread.
"This isn't for pride," he said. "It's a warning. You wear it, you may be marked. Betray us, and you're hunted."
"Understood," Elira said, voice steady.
He nodded, satisfied. Then handed her a sealed message.
"You'll deliver this to a contact in Durastown. Her name is Mae. She runs an apothecary near the old well. Don't speak to anyone else. Don't open the message. Don't stay longer than you have to."
Elira tucked the parchment beneath her tunic. "And if I'm caught?"
Kael looked at her without blinking. "You'll die."
—
Durastown was a crooked place, all leaning roofs and muddy streets. Soldiers roamed like wolves, their cloaks heavy with the Duras crest—black sun on a red field. Elira kept her head down, face smeared with soot, eyes always moving.
The apothecary was buried between a tannery and a wine shop. Inside, the air reeked of mint, clove, and rot. A woman behind the counter—sharp-eyed, middle-aged, skin inked with old scars—didn't look up when Elira entered.
"I need foxroot," Elira said quietly, the phrase Kael had told her to use.
The woman didn't blink. "You'll want the red kind."
A moment passed. Then Mae turned and walked into the back room, leaving the door open just wide enough for Elira to follow.
Inside was a wall lined with drawers, and a narrow table with an open ledger. Mae closed the door behind them.
"Message?" she said flatly.
Elira handed it over.
Mae broke the seal, read the contents, and whistled low. "Bold move," she muttered. "Your spy-master's getting reckless."
"I wouldn't know."
"Good. Stay that way."
Mae burned the message in a small brazier, the parchment curling in the flame.
"Now go," she said. "And don't come back unless you're bleeding or followed."
—
Back at camp, Elira returned to find Corin waiting. He stood near her tent, arms crossed, frowning like he'd been doing it for hours.
"Where were you?" he asked.
"Scouting assignment," she lied.
"Alone?"
"I work better that way."
Corin didn't reply. His eyes searched her face, not with suspicion—but something else. Worry.
"You vanish for a day, come back looking worse than when you left, and I'm not supposed to ask questions?"
Elira hesitated.
"Why do you care?" she said quietly.
Corin's jaw tightened. "Because I've watched too many good soldiers disappear. I'd rather not watch another."
Something cracked in her chest at that. She turned away too quickly.
"I'm fine," she muttered.
"Elias—"
She stopped. "Don't."
He stepped closer. "You don't talk about yourself. You don't ask for help. You train like you've got something to prove. And I've fought beside you enough to know you'd throw yourself on a blade if you thought it'd help win the war."
His voice softened.
"Just don't pretend you're alone. You're not."
She couldn't speak. Couldn't look at him. If she did, she might break.
He exhaled, then added with a crooked smile, "Also, you still owe me a rematch."
That made her laugh—quiet and sharp. She let herself look at him then, and something passed between them—warm, dangerous, real.
And fleeting.
Because in the woods beyond camp, someone else was watching.
A figure cloaked in hunter's green. Eyes sharp. Lips twisted into a curious smirk.
He'd seen the way "Elias" moved. How he didn't undress with the others. How he flinched at the wrong times, stared at Corin a little too long.
And he was very, very good at spotting secrets.
The orders came at dawn.
Elira unfolded the parchment with calloused fingers, still stiff from a cold night on watch. The words were brief:
"Travel light. Infiltration team. Disrupt communication lines near Falden Fort. Rendezvous at the Ember Bridge. Three days. Corin leads. Elias reports directly. —Kael"
Falden Fort was deep in enemy territory—closer to Duras command than the rebellion had dared strike in months.
She found Corin near the mess tent, sharpening his blade with slow, deliberate movements. He glanced up, already knowing.
"You got the message."
"I did."
He nodded, then stood. "We leave at dusk. Just the two of us."
Elira arched a brow. "That's bold."
"Kael's idea. Apparently we're trusted."
She didn't say what they both knew: in the world of spies, being trusted was the most dangerous thing of all.
—
By nightfall, they were already deep in the hills, weaving between snow-laced ridges and frozen streams. Their cloaks blended into the dark. Their footfalls were nearly silent. Elira was grateful for the quiet; it kept her focused, kept her from noticing how often Corin glanced at her when he thought she wasn't looking.
On the second night, they made camp inside the hollow of a broken tree, its roots clawing up around them like ribs. Wind howled outside.
"I've never seen you hesitate," Corin said suddenly, breaking the silence.
Elira blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Back at the gorge. At Durastown. Even when you're bleeding, you don't show it. You're like a blade already drawn."
She stayed quiet. She didn't know how to answer without unraveling herself.
Corin leaned back against the tree. "I used to be like that," he said. "Until I lost someone."
That caught her attention. She turned to face him fully.
"My brother," he continued. "First wave at Norwyn. He thought he could stop a war with words. He was wrong."
Elira's breath caught.
"My family died in Norwyn," she said softly.
Their eyes met. Something in the air shifted—like the ground beneath them had tilted, just a little, drawing them closer.
Corin exhaled, his voice low. "Maybe that's why you fight so hard."
"Maybe," she whispered. "Or maybe I don't know how to stop."
For a moment, it felt like the space between them could collapse. But then a distant sound cracked the night.
Steel on stone.
They both moved instantly, snuffing the fire and drawing their blades.
A figure stepped into view—tall, lean, wrapped in a hunter's green cloak. Elira's heart stilled.
The watcher.
"Easy," the man said, hands raised. "I'm not here to kill you."
"Then you're doing a terrible job of staying alive," Corin growled.
The stranger smirked. "Name's Ren. I'm with Kael."
Elira frowned. "We weren't told anyone else would be joining."
"You weren't. I'm following another lead." He tossed something toward them—a Duras insignia, freshly torn from a uniform. "Someone's been feeding the enemy your positions. I'm tracking the leak."
Corin narrowed his eyes. "Why come to us?"
Ren's gaze flicked to Elira.
"Because the traitor is close. And I have a habit of following secrets."
Elira felt her blood chill. Ren's eyes lingered too long, like he was peeling back the layers of her skin.
"We don't need your help," she said coldly.
"I'm sure you don't, Elias," he replied, voice dripping with something too knowing.
He vanished as quickly as he came, melting into the dark like a wraith.
—
The next day, they reached the edge of Falden Fort. Smoke coiled from its chimneys. Soldiers moved along the walls like shadows.
Elira and Corin slipped into an old grain tunnel beneath the ridge, crawling on elbows, knees scraping stone. It led to an abandoned stable at the base of the fort's rear wall.
Their mission was simple: destroy the message tower. It was used to transmit troop movements to outposts across the northern front. Take it down, and Duras would be blind for weeks.
They waited until midnight.
Then they moved.
Corin went high—scaling the side of the tower like a spider. Elira moved through the barracks yard, ducking behind carts and crates.
The tower burned before the alarm even sounded. Smoke twisted into the stars.
Elira and Corin fled into the trees as horns rang through the night. Behind them, chaos erupted—soldiers shouting, bells tolling, orders scattering like crows.
When they reached the ridge, breathless and bleeding, they collapsed into the frost.
Corin laughed—raw and victorious.
"Hell of a mission."
Elira smiled despite herself.
Then his hand found hers. Rough, warm, steady.
"You saved my life back there," he said.
"I owed you one."
"No," he said. "You didn't."
Their fingers laced together in the dark.
And for a moment, Elira forgot who she wasn't.