The city of Winter's Crown was deceptively quiet under the pale light of dawn. From the high vantage point of the palace walls, its cobbled streets and bustling markets appeared as serene as ever. Yet beneath the surface, tension coiled like a snake, ready to strike. Somewhere among the court's ranks, a traitor lingered, plotting their next move.
Damien sat in the safe house, surrounded by maps and reports scattered across the table. The single candle burned low, casting flickering shadows over his steel-gray eyes. Amara leaned against the far wall, her sharp blue eyes focused on him, while Carys paced, the clinking of her crossbow bolts breaking the silence.
"We've been chasing threads all night," Amara said, her voice cutting through the heavy air. "Servants whispering about strange orders, merchants claiming they delivered supplies to unnamed buyers. None of it's enough to lead us anywhere."
