#Chapter 127: Doubts in the Dark

Ember The second night at camp settles over us with the quiet weight of anticipation, everyone aware that Ronan's three-day clock is ticking somewhere in the dark forest beyond our perimeter. We eat around the fire—salt pork, hard bread, and the last of Jake's coffee—while the conversation stays tactical and surface-level, cycling through border routes and patrol rotations and speculation about how long the displaced alpha might take to decide whether Kaine's offer of territory is genuine or a gilded trap. I've changed into a loose wool shirt and camp trousers for sleeping and sit cross-legged on a log near the dying fire, running an oiled rag over my knife in the slow, methodical rhythm that has always been my version of meditation. The fire pops and sends sparks spiraling into the dark while one by one the others drift to their tents—Jake takes first watch, Kaine goes to write his report for the King, and I stay because the open air and the fading warmth of the coals feels better