I study Thornak's face as he works. There's tension in his shoulders that wasn't there this morning, and his usual calm demeanor seems strained. "He knows something's wrong. But I don't think he's made the connection yet."
"Should we tell him?"
The question hangs between us, weighted with implications. If we're right, then Garron isn't just part of the supply chain disruption—he's actively stealing from one of the most respected people in town. Thornak's reaction to that betrayal won't be measured or controlled.
"Not yet." I touch Brakkor's arm, drawing his attention back to me. "We need proof before we accuse anyone of theft. Thornak won't take that kind of news lightly."
"Fair point." His gaze returns to Thornak, who's finishing with the last of the logs. "But this changes everything. If Garron's stealing timber…"
The realization settles over me like a cold weight. All this time, I've been thinking of Garron as another business owner being manipulated by outside forces. But if he's stealing goods, using them to undercut legitimate suppliers and drive them out of business...
"He's not just complicit," I murmur. "He might be the key to the whole operation."
"We need to get to the bottom of this and get some real answers."
Brakkor's voice carries that familiar edge of determination that means he's done circling around the problem. I glance once more at Thornak, who's now securing his empty cart, then nod.
"Garron's place is two streets over."
We find him in the shed behind his modest stone cottage, the sound of steady hammering echoing through the evening air. He's bent over a half-constructed festival stall, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool temperature. Wood shavings curl around his boots, and the sharp scent of fresh-cut timber fills the space.
"Garron." I step into the doorway, Brakkor a shadow beside me.
He looks up, hammer suspended mid-swing. His weathered face shifts from concentration to wariness as he takes in our expressions.
"Evening, Calla. What brings you by? Ready to talk about that renovation?"
"We need to ask you something directly." I keep my voice level, professional. "Have you been stealing wood from Thornak's land?"
The hammer clatters to the workbench. Garron's face flushes red, his jaw working as if he's chewing something bitter.
"What the hell kind of question is that?" He straightens to his full height, which still leaves him looking up at both of us. "You think I'm some kind of common thief?"
"Someone has been poaching trees from Thornak's property." I cross my arms, maintaining eye contact. "Clean cuts, professional removal. And suddenly you have a new supplier offering quality wood at better prices?"
Garron's mouth opens and closes like he's struggling to find words. The indignation in his expression seems genuine, but there's something else there—a flicker of understanding that makes my pulse quicken.
"If anyone other than us knew about this connection," I continue, "accusations would be laid at your feet. Your timing looks suspicious, Garron."
"I would never—" He slams his palm against the workbench, making tools jump. "Thornak's been nothing but decent to me. You think I'd steal from him? From anyone in this town?"
Brakkor leans against the doorframe, his presence quiet but commanding. "Then explain the coincidence."
Garron runs a hand through his graying hair, frustration radiating from every line of his body. "There's no coincidence because I'm not stealing anything. I switched suppliers because Selwyn Trask approached me with a better deal."
I exchange a glance with Brakkor, whose expression has sharpened with interest.
"Selwyn Trask?" I keep my voice carefully neutral.
"Yeah, works the supply routes between here and the eastern settlements." Garron gestures toward his lumber stacks. "Cameby about six weeks ago, said he'd restructured his sourcing and could offer premium wood at twenty percent below my usual cost. Quality's been excellent—good as what I was getting before."
"Where does he source from?" Brakkor asks.
"Didn't ask specifics. Figured it was his business." Garron's defensive posture wavers slightly. "Look, I run an honest operation. Always have. So don't come here with accusations."
"You're right, Garron. I apologize." I let my shoulders relax, allowing the tension to drain from my voice. "That was unfair of me to jump to conclusions."
His scowl softens slightly, though wariness still lingers in his eyes.
