I press my hand flat against my stomach.
A child would give Malrec leverage over Nyrius that no amount of political maneuvering could match. A child would give Thalen ammunition. A child would make every enemy Nyrius has built through his reforms and his investigations into a threat aimed directly at something that can't defend itself.
I fold my legs under me on the cold floor of a prison cell and cry as quietly as I know how, which is very quietly, and I don't stop for a long time.
24
NYRIUS
The financial records take two days to fully cross-reference, but by the end of the second day the picture is clear enough that I stop sleeping.
Cyran lays the last set of documents on the camp table beside the others — shipping manifests, supply contracts, payment ledgers from three different administrative offices — and steps back while I work through them. The lamp burns low. Outside, the camp is quiet.
"The western corridor routes," I say. "All three main paths."
"Controlled by the magistrate's office through proxy contracts." Cyran points to the relevant column. "Two legitimate supply companies, one defunct merchant guild that stopped filing records four years ago. All three receiving regular payments from a regional infrastructure account."
"Infrastructure."
"Road maintenance." He doesn’t elaborate.
I check the payment dates and the shipment logs beside them. The dates align too consistently to be coincidence — every major weapons movement through the western corridor preceded by a payment to one of the three proxy accounts.Someone was clearing the road, literally and administratively, ahead of every significant smuggling run.
"He wasn't just profiting from the routes," I say. "He was managing them."
"Yes." Cyran straightens. "The oversight council's sweep last week hit Velis's operation, but it left the proxy accounts untouched. If Malrec filed the request himself, he controlled what the sweep targeted." He pauses. "He handed them Velis and kept the infrastructure clean."
He handed them Velis, and through Velis, he handed them Edria.
I close the ledger. "Where is Velis now?"
"Last known position near the old mill tributary. He scattered when the sweep hit but hasn't left the region — my patrol noted movement on the southern creek path two days ago."
I stand up. "Take me there."
We find him at dusk, sheltering in a ruined field outbuilding half a mile past the mill wheel. Two of his men are with him, neither of them armed beyond belt knives. He looks like someone who has spent three days sleeping in ditches, which is accurate.
He sees me and his face does several things in quick succession before settling on resignation.
"I'm not going back to the courthouse," he says.
"I haven't offered that." I step inside. It smells of damp straw and cold ash. "I want information."
"I've got nothing left to give."
"You have enough left to keep you in a cell for the rest of your life." I stop three feet away. "Or you have enough to trade for something better. Your choice, but make it quickly because I'm not patient today."
He glances at the two men with him, then back at me. He's considering options — what I know against what I might not, whether holding information serves him better than releasing it. He lands in the wrong place.
"I don't know what you think I can tell you," he says. "The operation is done. Everyone's scattered."
"Malrec," I say.
The name lands like a stone dropped into still water. Velis goes very still.
"I have financial records tying three accounts to the western corridor routes," I continue. "I have payment dates aligned with every major shipment. I have two administrative contacts willing to testify that the accounts were managed through the magistrate's office." I let that settle. "What I don't have is a witness who can testify to direct communication. That's what you have."
Velis looks at his boots.
