[Grand Duke's Office—Morning]
The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind Silas, the echo rolling through the vaulted chamber like distant thunder.
His father, Theoran, stood at the massive table in the center, its surface covered in maps, red-marked territories, and scattered parchment. A single candle burned beside him despite the daylight, its flame bending to the drafts that slithered through the stone walls.
Theoran didn't look up at first, just traced a gloved finger along the northern border of the map. "I assume you've read the letter, Silas."
Silas laid the sealed parchment on the table. The wax had already been broken in his haste."Yes. Three weeks in a row, children have gone without a trace. And now—spies." His voice was low, carrying an edge sharp enough to cut steel. "Is this what you felt? The unease that clung to you every damn day you spent in the North?"
