The Circle gathered in silence after the enforcers vanished, the oil drum's flame crackling like nervous breath.
Aric kept his eyes on the veteran. The man hadn't flinched once during the raid. He sat calm, knife in hand, sharpening it against a whetstone as though the world around him wasn't collapsing.
His name, Aric learned, was Derrick Kael. Once a decorated sergeant. Now, just another broken shadow of Greyveil.
"Don't mistake him for quiet," Mira whispered. "He's the reason most of us are still alive."
Aric nodded, but he saw more than strength in Derrick's eyes. He saw the weight of someone who carried ghosts.
Later, when the Circle thinned out, Derrick stayed by the fire, staring into the flames like they were trenches filled with bodies. Aric sat across from him.
"You lost the leg in battle?" Aric asked.
Derrick's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Not battle. Transport. They shipped us home when we were no use. Rations were low, and soldiers ate last."
Aric stayed silent.
"They told us we fought for honor. But I remember empty ammo crates stamped with fresh dates. I remember the crates that weren't empty. Shipped away. Sold. While we bled dry." Derrick's hand tightened on the knife. "Your sister… she came to the ward where I rotted. Asked questions no one else dared. I didn't answer. Coward that I am. A week later, she was dead. And the questions never left me."
Aric felt the burn of guilt. His sister had walked into places even he hadn't, chasing truth with nothing but words. And words had gotten her killed.
Derrick shifted, pulling a crumpled slip of paper from his coat. "She gave me this. Said I'd know when to pass it on."
He tossed it into Aric's lap.
It was a half-torn rail ticket. Faded, stamped with a date three years ago—the night before Liora died. But what caught Aric's eye was the destination: Sector Thirteen Archives.
Aric frowned. Sector Thirteen was a dead zone. Officially destroyed during the last bombing campaign. But if there were archives there…
The detective in him sparked again.
Derrick's voice rumbled low. "Whatever she found, it wasn't meant to leave that place. You chase it, you'll join her."
Aric folded the ticket carefully. "Then I'll be the second Vale to walk into Sector Thirteen. But I'll make sure I walk out."
Derrick studied him a long while, then sheathed his knife. For the first time that night, the veteran's eyes softened—not with hope, but with the faintest spark of respect.