POV:Silas
Silas had learned one truth in the Tier 2 shroud:
If it feels wrong , then it is.
Tonight, Grim Hollow felt wrong, which was absurd to say because the whole place always felt wrong.
The outpost still buzzed with frantic soldiers running damage control after the sabotage. Officers barked orders. Warrant officers sealed storage sectors. Entire platoons had been mobilized for internal sweeps. It should have felt reassuring.
It didn't.
Silas walked the length of Sentry Hall with one hand brushing the hilt of his longblade. His footsteps echoed against stone and steel—too loudly, as if the hall were hollowing out around him.
Something moved in the corner of his eye.
He turned sharply.
Nothing.
But Silas had survived the tier 2 shroud. He knew the difference between nothing and something pretending to be nothing.
A soft hiss whispered through the hall—metal scraping metal from the far end.
He froze.
Three months ago he would've dismissed it as a rat.
