The mist rolled in thicker that morning, heavy and low like a living thing slithering over the broken stones of the Enclave.
Cael stood at the edge of the ruined courtyard, arms crossed, watching the mist drift and coil. His sleep had been shallow, disturbed by uneasy dreams of hoofbeats, steel flashing in the dark, and a voice he could not place, whispering his name.
Behind him, he heard the scrape of metal against stone — Korr, sharpening his blade by the fire, a ritual as old as the Enclave itself.The old warrior's hands were steady, his expression unreadable.
"He's not what he says," Korr muttered without looking up.
Cael didn't bother asking how he knew.
"I know," he answered simply.
There was no proof, no evidence — only instinct, sharpened by blood and survival.But that was enough.
Rell appeared a moment later, moving with slow, deliberate steps. His cane clicked softly against the flagstones.
He handed Cael a chunk of dried meat and a hard biscuit."Eat," the old man said gruffly. "You'll need your strength soon."
Cael took the food without argument, chewing mechanically as his mind raced.
Sidney Reilly — smooth words, noble bearing, too many skills for a mere merchant's son.He had survived a slaughter, alone and unconscious, carried across desolate land by a frightened horse... and he had conveniently appeared at their doorstep just as they were beginning to regroup.
Too neat.Too convenient.
By mid-morning, Fen returned from his scouting run, face grim under the pale sky.
"Found something," he said shortly.
They followed him out beyond the Enclave's rough boundary — a crumbled wall half-swallowed by weeds — down a narrow deer trail that cut through the hills.
The mist clung to their boots as they moved, muffling sound, turning every shadow into a lurking shape.
It was Cael who spotted it first — a splash of dark red against the gray stones.
The body slumped against the base of a twisted rock outcropping, half-hidden by scraggly bushes.
A soldier.
Not a bandit, not a wanderer.Well-armed, well-fed, armor that hadn't seen rust or disrepair.
Now soaked in blood from a clean, deliberate stab wound to the heart.
Korr crouched over the corpse, face grim.
"This wasn't a brawl," he muttered, poking the edges of the wound with a dagger. "One strike. Professional."
Cael knelt beside him, studying the body.
There, on the man's gauntlet — faint, almost hidden by grime — a sigil burned into the leather: a twisted sunburst, its rays warped into jagged spears.
Not a symbol Cael recognized.
Not the mark of any merchant or common guard.
He exchanged a glance with Korr, who only scowled deeper.
"This is a message," Rell said from behind them, voice low. "Someone killed this man and left him here to be found."
"Or to warn," Fen added grimly.
They all stood in silence for a moment, the mist thickening around them like a living thing.
"Burn the body," Korr said finally. "No point letting it draw scavengers... or worse."
Fen and Cael set about building a pyre while Rell kept watch.The flames caught quickly, hissing and spitting as they consumed the dead soldier.
The twisted sunburst blackened and curled into ash.
They returned to the Enclave more wary than before.
Sidney greeted them at the gate, leaning on a makeshift crutch, a polite smile on his face.
"I thought I'd help," he offered lightly. "This place could use better defenses."
Korr grunted noncommittally, but didn't refuse.
Sidney spent the afternoon working alongside Fen, setting tripwires among the ruins, stringing bells from branches, teaching Iris simple snares used by caravan guards to catch intruders.
He moved with surprising ease for a wounded man, his hands deft, his instructions clear.
"You've done this before," Fen remarked at one point, half-teasing.
Sidney chuckled, flashing that same dazzling smile. "Roads are dangerous places. You learn to survive, or you don't last long."
Iris smiled back, easily charmed.Even Fen seemed to relax around him.
Only Cael kept his distance, watching.
Sidney was careful, always — careful not to overstep, careful to stay just vulnerable enough.He offered help but never pressed.Told stories but never volunteered too much.Laughed at jokes but never made himself the center of attention.
It was masterful.
Too masterful.
That evening, after a sparse meal of stew and foraged roots, the group gathered around the fire.
Sidney told them stories — tales of cities they'd never seen, markets glittering with silks and spices, grand ships with silvered sails.
His voice painted vivid pictures, and even Korr and Rell seemed, for a time, to forget their doubts.
Only Cael felt the wrongness building in his chest like a pressure he couldn't name.
When Sidney described a ship from the far south — its figurehead a coiled serpent carved from ivory — Cael caught a slip.
Just a small thing: Sidney called the ship "The Lady Vex" — but the Lady Vex, Cael knew from old trader stories, had been lost at sea five years ago.
A story Sidney shouldn't know — not firsthand.
Not unless he lied.
Afterward, as the fire died down and the others drifted toward sleep, Cael slipped away under the pretense of checking the perimeter.
The mist was thicker now, curling through the broken stones like ghostly fingers.
He moved silently, steps practiced, senses straining.
And there — near the edge of the ruins — he saw him.
Sidney stood alone in the mist, wrapped in his cloak.
Speaking.
Not to himself — but to something hidden beyond the veil of fog.
Cael crept closer, heart hammering in his chest.
"...Tomorrow night," Sidney whispered. His voice was low, urgent. "Be ready. I'll clear the way."
There was no answer that Cael could hear — but Sidney nodded as if receiving instructions.
Then he turned and slipped away, disappearing into the shadows without a sound.
Cael stayed frozen, scarcely breathing, until he was sure Sidney was gone.
He let out a slow, shaky breath.
The world around him felt suddenly sharper, the mist colder, the night heavier.
Sidney Reilly was no victim.
He was a dagger aimed straight at their hearts.
And tomorrow night... the blade would fall.
Cael returned to the others, his mind racing.
He had no proof — nothing that would satisfy Korr or Rell's cautious minds.
Only what he'd heard.
And instinct.
He sat near the dying fire, staring into the embers, weighing the choices before him.
Wake Korr? Confront Sidney now?
Or wait — watch — and catch him in the act?
The night dragged on.
Above the ruins, the stars faded behind thickening clouds.
The mist thickened into a smothering shroud.
And somewhere beyond the hills, unseen and silent, something moved closer.
Something coming for them.