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We sent word to the Southern Territories, warning them of the possible threat, but there is nothing more we can do until we know what we are preparing for. So, we wait. And the waiting is torture.

The entire stronghold feels like a bowstring pulled too tight, ready to snap. Every face I pass carries the same weight, the same silent question: When?

Each night, I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying Oberon’s words over and over. Be prepared. For what? I have scoured his letter, searching for some hidden meaning, some clue he left behind, but there is nothing. Only his confession, the lingering proof that I didn’t completely lose him. That is something, at least.

Zander keeps the stronghold running with an unshakable determination. Ash, despite his usual wit, has begun carrying himself differently, still joking, still lightening the mood when he can, but there is something sharper in him now. He is stepping into his role, proving to everyone that he can stand beside Zander, not just behind him.

The stronghold has never felt so prepared and yet so vulnerable.

It has been five nights since Oberon’s letters arrived. I sit outside, away from the flickering lanterns and the restless energy of the others. The stars stretch endlessly above me, cold and uncaring. My fingers toy with the pendants around my neck, tracing their delicate engravings.

Oberon, I think. Where are you?

The wind stirs around me, rustling the leaves, carrying whispers of a future I can’t see. The anticipation is suffocating. I don’t know what is coming, but I know one thing for certain: whatever happens next, we aren’t ready.

Chapter forty-two

Carefully Crafted Lie

The days stretch on, each one dragging slower than the last. The rebellion soldiers grow restless, their patience wearing thin under the weight of the unknown. We have prepared as much as we can: supplies are stocked, weapons sharpened, and defenses reinforced. It feels like there is nothing left to do but wait.

And waiting is the worst part.

My mind twists through every possible outcome, every scenario where we aren’t ready. Worse, I can’t shake the nagging thought that has been gnawing at me for weeks: What if there really is a traitor inside the stronghold? If the king has someone feeding him information, then all of our preparation, all of our precautions, mean nothing. He would already know. He would already be a step ahead. It feels like he is always one step ahead. The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

I can’t sit by and do nothing. If we have a spy among us, finding them can be the one thing that truly tips the scales in our favor. I have to figure out where to start, and I need Zander and Ash’s help.

I find them on the training grounds, surrounded by a hundred rebellion soldiers wielding daggers, their bodies shifting through defensive and offensive stances as they listen intently.

Zander moves through the ranks, demonstrating how to avoid magic attacks, the same way he managed to break through mine and Ash’s during sparring. It still blows my mind sometimes how effortlessly he countered us, how quick he was on his feet.

The king doesn’t just capture magic wielders—he collects them. The best of the best. Those who aren’t subjected to his experiments, those who don’t have their power torn from them, are recruited into his army and forced to serve him or suffer the consequences. Either option sounds like torture to me.

Ash notices me first, breaking away from the group and sauntering over with that ever-present smirk. “Afternoon, sunshine,” he muses, falling into step beside me. “What brings you out here? Looking to show these idiots how not to get their asses kicked?”

I roll my eyes and gesture for him to follow me, leading him far enough away that no unwanted ears can overhear. Once I am sure we are out of reach, I lower my voice.

“I’ve been thinking,” I start, my fingers unconsciously playing with the pendant around my neck. “If there really is a traitor among us, then wouldn’t all of this be a waste?” Ash’s expression darkens slightly, the amusement flickering from his eyes. “If someone is feeding the king information,” I continue, “then wouldn’t he already know? Wouldn’t he already be a step ahead?”

Ash lets out a low hum, considering it. “I mean, I guess it’s possible. But we’ve been over this. We’ve exhausted that avenue, and we’ve come up with nothing.”

“Then maybe we need to start over.” I cross my arms. “Who would have the most access to information? Who would be in the best position to slip messages out without raising suspicion?”

Ash exhales, glancing back toward the soldiers. We both fall into thoughtful silence before he finally speaks. “The obvious choice would be one of the messenger carriers,” he admits.

I frown. “Wouldn’t we know if letters had been intercepted? If seals had been broken?”

“Not if they were good at what they do,” Ash counters. “It’s possible someone’s been slipping messages through in a way we haven’t caught onto yet. But even if that’s the case, there are a dozen messengers. It would take time to root one out.”

Before I can respond, Zander’s voice cuts through our conversation. “That was the first place we looked,” he says, stepping up beside us. “All the messengers have been vetted. They were cleared.”

I let out a frustrated sigh. Back to square one. There has to be something we are missing. Some angle we haven’t thought of yet. The king’s ability to always be ahead of us isn’t just luck—it is calculated.

Ash crosses his arms, frowning. “Alright, so the messengers are clear—fine. But someone has to be slipping information out. There has to be another way.”

I turn the thought over in my mind, trying to think of something, anything, that makes sense. “What if it’s not messages?”

Zander tilts his head. “Explain.”