Shifting Tides
Kaelen Myrvalis did not believe in fast resolutions when dealing with intelligence assets. Fast resolutions were for soldiers and assassins. Spies required time.
For Torvald Hessen, the time had run out.
Torvald sat at the writing desk in his careful, quiet house in Oakhaven. The two Ministry operatives in heavy wool coats stood silently by the door, blocking the only exit. Kaelen sat in the worn armchair by the cold fireplace, his black eyes fixed unwaveringly on the retired academic.
It had been twenty-four hours since the capture. In that time, Kaelen's operatives had ripped Torvald's house apart, analyzing every ledger, every hollowed-out prayer book, every scrap of waterproof paper. The operational picture was complete, and for Kaelen, it was deeply satisfying.
