Chapter 209

Hawke sent the message with a bundle of reeds - he needed an answer.

The note itself was brief and direct.

{letter}

Records discrepancy discovered. Require clarification regarding secondary placement. Please advise.

{endletter}

Enough to get their attention. Enough to tell them something had changed.

It wasn't a question he'd asked before. It was the kind of question that suggested he had either been compromised or was beginning to have doubts.

Seth rented a room at an inn a few blocks from Hawke's office.

I waited beneath the shrine. Hidden within the earth where human eyes never looked.

The next morning, someone finally came for the note.

A woman in her late forties. Average height. Average build. Brown hair beginning to gray at the temples. Brown eyes. She wore a faded green wool dress and carried two baskets - one filled with eggs, the other with turnips and onions.

She was utterly forgettable. The kind of person you could pass a dozen times and never remember.

I followed her into Kingsward. She sold vegetables. Sold eggs. Stopped at a butcher and bought meat. Visited a fishmonger. Dropped two dresses off at a seamstress for repairs.

For three hours she wandered the city doing nothing remotely suspicious.

Then she entered a public bathhouse. Nothing fancy. Just a place where laborers, merchants, and farmers washed away a day's sweat.

Inside, she knelt beside a bench and slipped the note into a basket hidden beneath it. Then she left.

I stayed with the note.

An hour later another woman arrived. Gray-haired. Somewhere in her fifties. Arms full of laundry.

She retrieved the note without breaking stride and went right back to work. Collecting towels. Delivering linens. Moving baskets of clothing from one room to another.

If I hadn't been watching for her specifically, I never would have noticed.

When her shift ended, she crossed half the city. She bought food from a street vendor. Delivered it to an elderly man. The two spent nearly an hour talking. Weather. Local gossip. Complaints about prices. Nothing of importance. At least, nothing that sounded important.

When she finally left, she made her way to a small stable near the docks.

Inside the feed room, hidden behind sacks of grain and barrels of horse feed, was a trapdoor.

She disappeared through it. I followed. A candle flickered to life below.

The trapdoor opened into a cellar. The cellar opened into a tunnel. The tunnel eventually emerged beneath a warehouse near the waterfront.

Inside, a dozen people worked quietly. No uniforms. No banners. No secret ceremonies. Just people doing paperwork.

Updating ledgers. Reviewing maps. Sending messages. Planning route schedules. Adjusting placement records.

The woman delivered Hawke's note and left through the front door.

A man picked it up. Read it. Frowned. Then tucked it into a ledger.

That was it.

No panic. No rush. No whispered alarm. Just another piece of correspondence passing through another ordinary day.

I watched.

And as I watched, I noticed something. Everyone deferred to one of the women.

A clerk asked her permission before updating a ledger. Another brought reports directly to her. A courier waited for her approval before leaving.

Nobody announced her authority. Nobody saluted. But everyone treated her like she was in charge.

Hours passed.

The warehouse slowly emptied. People packed their things. Ledgers were locked away. Couriers departed. Clerks went home. One by one they disappeared into the evening.

Everyone except her.

She remained for another hour. Then she changed clothes and slipped out through a side door.

Hawke's note stayed behind with the ledgers. Nobody came for it.

I could stay. Wait. See who eventually collected the records.

Or I could follow the woman.

I didn't want to let Seth down. And I'd never forgive myself if I missed something important. But when I thought about what Seth would do, the answer seemed obvious.

People mattered.

So I followed the woman.

She returned to a modest house in town. Her house. A husband greeted her at the door. A daughter sat waiting with a book. A dog met her with frantic excitement. Dinner simmered on the stove.

She kissed her husband. Helped her daughter with her reading. Fed the dog scraps from the table.

It was all so normal. So painfully ordinary. Just people living their lives.

For a while I wondered if I'd made a mistake. Maybe I should have stayed with the ledger. Maybe the note had been the important thing after all.

The house finally went dark. Everyone went to sleep.

And the woman left.

She made her way down to the docks. Boarded a ship. Disappeared below deck.

I couldn't follow. Not without abandoning the stone. Not without being seen.

Even after midnight, sailors still worked the vessel. Lanterns moved across the deck. Voices drifted across the water. Someone would notice me.

So I waited.

Eventually the woman emerged again. Left.

And I went back to Seth.

* * *

Iolite was amazing.

She'd learned more in three days than I probably would have uncovered in a year. Probably more than Amberleigh would have managed in a month.

I was going to have to reward her for that. Do something nice.

I already had plans for all of my women, but Iolite deserved something special. Something bigger.

Assuming I survived long enough to give it to her.

I stretched out on the bed in the rented inn room.

Iolite had already gone back to Hawke's office. Hidden inside the wall, watching. Listening.

Hawke had no idea she was there. I hadn't told him the entire plan.

His job was simple - wait for someone to show up and learn as much as possible without raising suspicion.

Iolite's job was to watch him until the Covenant made contact.

My job was to watch her. And I wasn't even sure I could. But I had to try.

As I lay there, I thought back to Earth. To the fire and chaos of Rittenhouse Park. To falling through the Interstitium, my awareness shattered across a dozen perspectives at once. To the Covenant ambush, when my mind had somehow merged with the ferals. To the moment Mirri, Elise, and Lilae had been in danger.

What was the common thread? Besides danger. Besides desperation.

What had it actually felt like? Could I do it intentionally? Could I control it?

I didn't need another complete fracture. Just a crack. Just enough to stay with Iolite. To know where she was. How she was feeling. What she saw. What she heard.

I tried meditation. Calm breathing. Focus.

Nothing.

I tried excitement. Tension. A racing heartbeat.

Still nothing.

I followed the silver thread connecting us through my Faith-scape.

Even more nothing.

Hours passed.

I worried I was going to miss whatever happened. But I kept trying.

What finally worked was the simplest thing imaginable. I thought about how much I loved her. I thought about her smile. The way she blushed. The way my heart skipped a beat whenever she kissed me. The way her hair drifted around her shoulders while we soaked together in the bath. The quiet joy she found helping in the kitchen despite being unable to eat.

My mind cracked, but it didn't shatter.

The world tilted. My Faith-scape shifted as though I were looking through two different lenses at once. Disorienting. Strange. But not painful.

And suddenly-

I was her. And she was me.

I felt her surprise. Her momentary panic. Then her relief when she realized I was alright.

We waited.

No one came.

We watched Hawke go home. Watched him sleep.

The next day passed. Then another night. Then another day.

Luckily, sleep had become more of a suggestion than a requirement for me.

The same was true for Iolite.

On the fourth day, someone finally arrived.

A woman. Pretty face. Light brown hair. Hazel eyes. A blue dress beneath a traveling cloak meant to ward off the autumn chill. Long gloves. Practical boots.

“Master Hawke,” she greeted. “It's been a while.”

“It has,” he replied.

“Your message was unusual.”

“I thought it warranted clarification.”

“Clarification of what?” she asked.

“A secondary placement.”

Neither smiled.

The woman studied him. “Which one?”

“Tristayn.”

“Why didn't your note specify?”

“Because I wanted an honest answer.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you reviewing old placements?” Her tone remained professional. Curious. Not hostile.

“Because I found discrepancies.”

“What discrepancies?”

“Missing confirmations. Missing destinations. Different records saying different things.” Hawke’s voice was calm. Not accusatory. Just questioning.

She folded her gloved hands neatly in her lap. “That happens.”

“Not often.”

“No,” she agreed. “Has someone been reviewing the records?” she asked.

“Of course.”

Her expression tightened. “Someone besides you.”

A brief hesitation. “Occasionally.”

“Who?”

“People interested in the program.”

“I want names.” Her voice was flat.

“No one important.”

Her gaze hardened. “Has Lady Fenwick become suspicious?”

“No.” The answer came immediately. Confident. Certain.

“You are sure?”

“If she knew, I wouldn't be sitting here.”

The tension in her shoulders eased slightly. “He was redirected,” she said. “It occasionally happens out of necessity.”

“Necessary for what?”

“Successful placements.”

“That's not an answer,” he told her.

“It's the answer I have.”

“So he was redirected without documentation.” A trace of frustration entered Hawke's voice.

“Not without documentation.”

“Without our documentation.”

The woman regarded him quietly. “Why does that matter now?”

Hawke leaned back. “Because I've spent years telling people they're safe.”

Silence.

“I've vouched for your organization.”

Still silence.

“If someone asks me where one of those people went...” He paused. “...I'd like to know the answer.”

The woman studied him for several long moments. Then asked quietly, “Did someone ask?”

“Would it matter if they did?”

The rest of the conversation became a careful dance.

Neither wanted to show their hand.

She never explained where Tristayn ended up. Never mentioned leadership. Never explained why certain people were redirected. Never even confirmed anyone had disappeared.

Hawke pushed where he could, but he was walking a razor's edge. Push too hard and she'd disappear.

It didn't matter, because the conversation told me everything I needed to know. They weren't worried about the discrepancies. They were worried about who had discovered them.

* * *

The woman left Hawke's office.

Iolite followed her.

I broke the connection.

The world snapped back into place.

I sat upright on the bed, dizzy and stiff. I hadn't moved much over the last three days, and suddenly being confined to a single pair of eyes felt odd. Even with my own eyes closed while Iolite and I were connected, part of me had grown accustomed to seeing through hers.

The room swayed.

I took a few deep breaths and rubbed at my face.

Then I stepped.

The woman was twenty feet ahead of me, moving at an unhurried pace through the streets of Kingsward. She slowed near a fruit stand, examining the produce. Three children ran past laughing, and a faint smile touched her lips as she watched them go.

I slipped my hands into my pockets and fell into step beside her.

“Huh.”

She stiffened.

“You really do smell like lavender and horses.”

Her head turned slowly toward me.

I smiled.

“Should I know you?” she asked.

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you've been asking questions about me.”

Suspicion flickered across her face before it disappeared behind practiced neutrality. She turned her gaze forward again and kept walking.

“You know, Hawke remembers everyone.”

Silence.

“He remembers a cooper named Hen.”

Nothing.

“A widow named Ysabel.”

The slightest tightening around her eyes.

“He remembers the names of her sons.”

Her pace never faltered. She never looked at me.

“He remembers a merchant named Hugor. Missing part of his left ear.”

Nothing.

“A sailor from Caldris pretending to be from Esmori.”

Her shoulders tightened - just a little.

“Hawke remembers people,” I continued. “That's one of the things I like about him.”

“Lord Grimm.” It wasn’t a question - it was a statement.

“In the flesh.”

“I suspected.” Her voice was flat.

“Because Hawke suddenly started asking questions?”

She ignored that. After a moment she asked, “What do you want?” She sounded tired. Not frightened. Not angry. Just tired.

“What do you mean?”

“What is it you're trying to accomplish?” She still refused to look at me.

“I want people to stop disappearing.”

That finally earned a reaction. Small. Subtle. But real. “Do they?” she asked quietly. “Do they really disappear?”

“You tell me.”

Her eyes drifted toward the harbor.

Ships rocked gently in the water. Gulls wheeled overhead.

“When I joined...” she began. Then stopped. Her jaw tightened. “No.”

“Tell me anyway.”

A short, humorless laugh escaped her. “You sound just like him.”

“Hawke?”

“Yes.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

She didn't respond.

We walked in silence for a while.

The city moved around us. Merchants shouting. Wagons rattling over stone. The distant cry of gulls.

“When I joined, we fed people,” she finally said, her voice soft. “We relocated refugees.” She swallowed. “We found jobs.”

A few more steps. “We saved lives.” The words sounded like something she was trying to convince herself of. “At least I thought we did.”

I studied her profile. The uncertainty was there. The doubt. The crack in the foundation.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

That finally made her look at me. Surprise flickered across her face. Of all the questions she expected, that apparently wasn't one of them.

“Annora.”

“Seth.”

A faint smile touched her lips - brief. Gone almost immediately. “I know.”

We continued walking.

“You should stop asking questions.”

“Probably.”

“But you won't.”

“Nope.”

She nodded, like she'd already known the answer. “Then be careful.”

That caught me off guard. I looked at her. “I wasn't expecting a warning.”

For the first time since we'd started talking, she met my eyes. Really met them.

The weariness there seemed older than she was. “You're not the only one asking questions.”

Then she turned. Crossed the street. And disappeared into the crowd.

To the northwest, Ashlara’s Faith flared like a miniature sun.

I stepped.