The tension in Emberhold was thick as Alexander sat in the war room, staring at the map laid out before him. The traitor was still out there. They had taken the bait, feeding the fake weapons shipment details to Vale, but now it was time to draw them into the open.
Tyrell entered the room swiftly, his expression sharp.
"We've got movement."
Alexander looked up. "Who?"
"One of the warehouse workers," Tyrell said. "Name's Lyle. Came in with one of the recent supply convoys—seemed ordinary enough, but he slipped out last night and made contact with someone outside the walls."
Silas leaned forward. "Did he meet a courier?"
Tyrell nodded. "My men were watching. It was quick. A drop-off—nothing direct. He left a package under a pile of timber near the southern exit. It's gone now."
Alexander exhaled slowly. So this was it.
"Lyle doesn't know we're onto him," Tyrell continued. "We've got someone tailing him. He's planning to slip out of Emberhold tonight."
Alexander's fingers drummed against the table. "Then we don't let him."
Setting the Trap
The plan was simple.
Lyle thought he was being careful. He wouldn't run immediately—he'd wait until the city settled for the night, then slip out through the lesser-used routes, likely taking a detour to cover his tracks.
They would let him believe he was getting away.
Then, when he was far enough from the city, they would close in.
Tyrell had stationed scouts along the main paths leading south, ensuring that no matter which way Lyle fled, he would be intercepted. Elias had men watching the walls, ready to track any unexpected movements. Silas had scribes recording everything—every name on the warehouse roster, every detail of Lyle's movement, every possible connection.
This wasn't just about catching one spy.
This was about unraveling Vale's entire network.
The Chase Begins
The night was cool, the sky clouded over as Alexander, Tyrell, and a dozen handpicked warriors lay in wait near the southern perimeter.
Not long after the watchtowers signaled the city gates had closed for the night, movement stirred in the shadows.
Tyrell gave a slight nod. "There he is."
Lyle moved cautiously, sticking close to the treeline as he crept through the brush. He had no idea they were watching.
Alexander motioned to his men.
Not yet.
They let him get further.
Further.
He glanced around nervously, then took another step.
"Now."
Lyle had barely taken three more steps when the night exploded around him.
Tyrell's scouts cut off his escape path from the trees.
Elias and the warriors emerged from the shadows, surrounding him in seconds.
Lyle froze. His eyes darted, searching for a way out.
There was none.
Alexander stepped forward, his gaze like ice.
"Going somewhere?"
For a moment, Lyle looked like he might run. Then he slowly raised his hands.
"Wait—wait, I can explain—"
Tyrell punched him in the stomach, knocking him to his knees. "No more lies."
Alexander crouched beside him. "You're going to talk. Right now."
Interrogation – The Web of Spies
Lyle was dragged back into the city, bound and thrown into a secured chamber beneath the war room.
Silas stood beside Alexander as the interrogation began.
"You were seen making a drop," Silas said flatly. "We already know you're working for Vale. What we want to know is—who else is working with you?"
Lyle hesitated, his jaw tightening.
Alexander's patience was thin. He stepped forward, grabbing Lyle by the collar.
"Talk, or I make this far worse for you."
Lyle swallowed hard. "You don't get it," he finally muttered. "If I talk, I'm dead."
"Then you have nothing to lose," Alexander said.
Lyle hesitated. Then, at last, he spoke.
Revealing the Network
"There are more," Lyle admitted. "Not just me. Vale has… people inside. A network."
Silas exchanged a look with Alexander. They had suspected as much.
"Who?" Silas pressed.
Lyle hesitated again, but the glare from Elias made him reconsider.
"Three others," he said finally. "A merchant, a guard, and someone in the forges. I don't know their real names. We don't work that way. We just pass messages."
Alexander clenched his jaw. A guard and a blacksmith? That meant Vale wasn't just targeting trade—he was watching their military and industry as well.
Tyrell leaned against the wall. "How does Vale contact you?"
Lyle exhaled. "Dead drops. We leave messages in certain places—an abandoned house, under broken cobblestones, inside crates. Someone picks them up."
Silas nodded. "Which means Vale has a runner—a courier."
Alexander looked at Lyle. "And where's the next drop supposed to be?"
Lyle hesitated.
Elias cracked his knuckles. "I suggest you answer."
Lyle exhaled. "Near the old quarry. There's an abandoned shed. A courier picks up messages there every three days."
Alexander exchanged a glance with Silas.
They had their next target.
Vale's Perspective – Losing Control
Meanwhile, in his castle, Vale sat across from Baron Devrin, listening to the latest report.
"They caught one of our men," Devrin said. "And he's talking."
Vale's expression darkened. "How much does Maxwell know?"
"Enough," Devrin admitted. "They know about the network. They'll be hunting the others now."
Vale clenched his jaw. Maxwell was adapting far too quickly. The blockade had failed. The economic war had stalled. And now, his spies were being rooted out before they could do real damage.
He needed to change the game again.
Vale turned to his advisors.
"Tell our informants to go silent. Cut all contact. Maxwell is closing in, and we can't afford any more mistakes."
Devrin hesitated. "And what about the network inside Emberhold?"
Vale's fingers drummed against the table. "We wait. Maxwell will think he's won once he catches a few traitors. But when he lowers his guard… that's when we strike."
The war in the shadows wasn't over yet.
The Next Move – The Courier's Demise
The next evening, Alexander's forces surrounded the old quarry, waiting for Vale's courier to arrive.
Tyrell's scouts spotted the figure approaching just before midnight—moving carefully, making sure he wasn't followed.
The courier knelt by the abandoned shed, reaching into a concealed crevice beneath the wooden planks.
A moment later, he turned to leave.
He never made it ten steps.
A blade pressed against his throat.
Alexander's voice was a whisper.
"You're done."
The network was collapsing.
And The Maxwell Dominion was finally turning the tide.