Roric sat alone in his office at the Hunters' Bureau, the quiet so complete it felt staged. Outside, Blackhaven wore the last stiffness of winter like an old coat it had not yet decided to shrug off. Frost still clung to the eaves across the street. The wind carried no birdsong. Even the distant markets sounded muffled, as if the city itself were conserving breath for the thaw.
On his desk lay the roster.
Names. Routes. Rotations.
With most beasts in the surrounding wilds hibernating, there was little for hunters to do but maintain gear, mend nets, and complain about boredom. That would change soon. A handful of species woke early, hungry and disoriented, and those were always the ones that caused havoc—wandering too close to farms, blundering into roads, mistaking lanternlight for prey. Roric's pen scratched methodically as he assigned patrols to the eastern hedges, the marsh approaches, the low ridges by the city.
He worked without hurry, without pause.
But his thoughts were elsewhere.
'I need to find them before winter ends.'
The Dishonoured.
His encounter with one weeks ago had left a taste in his mouth that no tea could wash out. He had searched for signs of a base outside the city first, reasoning that no one in the throes of such corruption would remain near crowds. He had combed the forests. Then the Node that was the Iron Forest. He had ventured deeper than was wise for the season, careful with every step so as not to stir the sleeping titans beneath the snow-heavy boughs.
Nothing.
He had widened his area and ended up searching the entire region in widening circles until his maps looked like webs of graphite and frustration.
Nothing.
Which left the only conclusion he did not like.
They were in Blackhaven. He assumed they were on the move but the search ptoved otherwise.
At present, physically hunting for them would put them on high alert.
So he had done something he disliked even more.
Something subjectively wrong.
To him, necessary.
Roric's thumb traced the edge of the pendant at his chest as he closed his eyes. Flow stirred beneath his skin, not flaring, not obvious—just a steady, controlled hum. From that hum, his senses spread along the extended threads . Fine as hair. Invisible. Countless.
They had been there for weeks.
Attached to the people of Blackhaven.
Through his Resonant, he did not see individuals as faces or names. He felt them as vibrations. The subtle tremors of familiarity. The way relationships rang against one another like struck glass. A father to a daughter. Neighbors who nodded each morning. Vendors who argued daily over stall space. Friends who had known each other since childhood.
These resonances formed a web over the city.
A living map.
And through that web, if he focused, he could see.
Roric did not like spying on people.
But it was for their own good.
His awareness slid across the threads like a hand brushing harp strings.
A baker kneading dough with rhythmic irritation.
A woman scolding her husband for tracking mud across clean floors.
Two young men arguing over a card game in a tavern, one cheating badly.
A tired mother rocking a baby by the hearth, humming tunelessly.
He felt their lives. Their small, mundane movements. Their privacy.
He endured the discomfort of it because somewhere in that web, a Dishonoured was hiding.
His vision shifted.
A street near the southern gate.
He saw through the eyes of a passing courier as two familiar figures walked up from the city road: Elias and Jamie.
Snow crunched beneath their boots. Jamie was animated, talking with her hands, her breath fogging in excited bursts. Elias walked beside her, hands tucked into his sleeves, gaze distant, lips moving slightly as he replied.
The angle changed as Roric's focus slid along the web.
Now through the eyes of an old man sweeping his doorstep. Jamie's scarf trailed like a banner as she turned mid-step to say something, nearly slipping. Elias steadied her without looking, muttering that she should be careful.
The view shifted again.
A woman at a window above them watched as they passed. Jamie kicked at a lump of ice, laughing when it shattered. Elias paused briefly, staring at a lamppost with intense concentration as if it had personally offended him.
Roric felt the strain behind his eyes and let out a slow breath.
This was tiring.
Weeks of this had worn him thin. He did not require sleep for long stretches, but the constant draw on his Flow, the constant awareness of hundreds of lives at once, had begun to fray him at the edges.
He bore it.
Because he was protecting his daughter.
His fingers tightened around the pendant.
Raizelle.
He saw her as she had been: poised, bright-eyed, laughter that filled rooms. The Prima Donna. The rightful heir to a throne she had never wanted but had been born to carry. Framed for the murder of the previous queen by her own sister. Forced to flee before the Brand of Dishonour could be seared into her soul.
Her sister had taken the throne with the support of the ruling class. But she was not Prima Donna. She could sit on the throne, command armies, issue decrees—
But she could not wield the full authority of the crown.
That required the true line.
That required Raizelle.
Which made Raizelle's assassination a necessity.
Roric's jaw tightened.
Raizelle had named Jamie as her successor before she died. A quiet declaration witnessed only by killers and him who killed her killers. The matter had been buried with careful lies. To the world, the current queen had taken over after her sister was killed by a relative who supported her escape and was executed for treason.
'That wasn't treason, they were used as a scapegoat.'
Aside Roric, Alaric, and Elara knew the truth. They had helped him keep this secret, otherwise...
The memory made his head throb.
He returned to the web.
Jamie was now passing by a square where children were playing. Roric watched through the eyes of a girl clutching a snowball too tightly. With his prompt, the girl hurled it. It struck Jamie square in the back.
She froze.
Then she grinned.
Ice formed instantly in her hands. Perfect spheres. She launched them with frightening accuracy. Children shrieked and scattered, laughing as they ran for cover. Naturally, Jamie gave chase.
Roric laughed softly in his office.
Elias stood off to the side, deep in thought, lips moving.
"…editing to different values…then conversion… Hmmm, maybe if I—"
Jamie walked up and bumped him hard with her waist.
He blinked, startled back to the world.
And then something strange happened.
Roric felt it clearly.
The thread he had attached to Jamie split.
Not snapped.
Split.
And the second half attached itself to Elias.
Roric frowned, his awareness narrowing. That had never happened before. Threads did not behave that way. They did not replicate. They did not choose new anchors.
He felt confusion ripple through him.
A knock at his door broke his focus.
His secretary stepped in. "Sir, the hunters are gathered. It's time."
Roric opened his eyes slowly. The room felt too small. The pendant was still in his hand. He tucked it back beneath his shirt, picked up the roster, and stood.
"Right," he said calmly.
He stepped out into the hall, the fatigue hidden beneath posture and habit, the web of threads still humming quietly at the edge of his awareness as he walked to address the hunters of Blackhaven.