The summons came at dawn.
Marcus was halfway through breaking his fast when the runner arrived—mud on his boots, breath sharp with urgency.
"Border patrol at the southern spur," the man reported. "Signal fires were sighted, then extinguished. Commander believes it may be a feint, but—"
"But we won't ignore it," Marcus finished, already standing.
Isolde rose with him, instinctive as breath. She had learned quickly that the most dangerous threats were the ones dismissed as unlikely.
"I'll come," she said.
Marcus turned to her at once. "No."
The word came out sharper than he intended. He reined it in, lowering his voice. "If this is what it appears to be, it's nothing. If it's not, it's not something you should be anywhere near."
Isolde studied his face—the tension around his eyes, the soldier's instinct already reaching outward. She placed her hand briefly against his forearm.
