The smoke from the ruined raider camp had thinned to a pale ribbon against the night sky by the time Kael gave the order.

  “Greywatch isn’t far,” he said, eyes on the dark outline of distant hills. “If Lord Veynar is involved, we don’t walk in blind.”

  His gaze shifted to Corin.

  “I need eyes on that manor. Guard rotations. Patrol paths. Archer posts. Any mage signatures you can sense. Count soldiers, note armor types. If you can get close enough to overhear something useful, do it. But no risks.”

  Corin nodded once. No dramatics. No hesitation. He had already begun checking his gear — running fingers along the curve of his bow, testing string tension, adjusting the leather wraps around his wrists. His breathing slowed deliberately, steadying his pulse.

  Restoring himself to full sharpness.

  Jarek straightened from where he’d been leaning against a tree. “I’ll go with him.”

  Kael shook his head immediately. “This isn’t a breach. It’s reconnaissance. You’re subtle for your size, Jarek, but you’re still built like a battering ram.”

  Jarek grunted, glancing at his broad shoulders. “Could move quiet if I wanted.”

  “And if a branch snaps under your weight?” Kael replied calmly. “Or a patrol sees you under torchlight? We need information, not a second battlefield.”

  Jarek didn’t argue further, but the faint crease in his brow showed he didn’t like being sidelined.

  Corin rose, rolling his shoulders once, then twice. His eyes had already taken on that distant focus — calculating routes, shadow density, elevation angles. He was mapping terrain in his mind before even stepping into it.

  “I’ll be back before dawn,” he said.

  “Before dawn,” Kael confirmed. “If you’re not, we move without you.”

  Corin accepted that without offense. It was the rule. Sentiment got people killed.

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  He was about to step away when a smooth voice drifted from behind.

  “I’ll accompany him.”

  They all turned.

  Belphegor stood a few paces off, hands in his coat pockets, expression unreadable. The firelight caught his features in sharp contrast — pale skin, dark hair falling just enough over his brow, crimson eyes gleaming faintly in the dark. Even in stillness, there was something commanding about him. Not loud. Not forceful. But present. Like a blade resting on a table — quiet, yet impossible to ignore.

  Corin didn’t speak, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

  Kael did not hide his reaction. “No.”

  Belphegor tilted his head faintly. “I need to stretch my legs. The evening’s entertainment was brief.”

  “We’re scouting,” Kael replied. “Not dismantling another camp.”

  “And I am excellent at not being seen,” Belphegor said lightly. “You’ve witnessed that much.”

  That, unfortunately, was true.

  His shadow ability would make infiltration smoother. If things went wrong, his shield ability might buy seconds that meant survival. Kael weighed the risk quickly.

  He didn’t like it.

  But he liked walking blind into a noble’s manor even less.

  After a long moment, he exhaled. “You go together. No unnecessary kills. No improvising.”

  Belphegor’s faint smile suggested he enjoyed that last instruction far too much.

  Corin adjusted the strap of his quiver.

  “We leave now.”

  The fight with the raiders had lasted less than half an hour. The night was still thick and forgiving. Torches would burn lazily at this hour. Guards would be at their most complacent.

  “Back before dawn,” Kael repeated.

  Then the two figures slipped into the darkness — Corin first, moving low and deliberate, Belphegor following at an unhurried pace that somehow made no sound at all.

  The forest swallowed them.

  Silence settled around the remaining three.

  Lyra approached Kael once the shadows had fully consumed their silhouettes.

  “Are you certain about him?” she asked quietly.

  Kael didn’t pretend not to understand.

  “The way he fights,” she continued, voice low. “The way he looks at people before killing them. There is something… wrong. I feel it. Like standing near a storm that hasn’t decided where to strike.”

  Jarek snorted. “He kills enemies. That’s what we do.”

  Lyra shot him a look sharp enough to cut. “There’s a difference between necessity and enjoyment.”

  Jarek opened his mouth, then closed it again, deciding wisely that silence was safer.

  Kael’s gaze remained fixed on the dark treeline.

  “He won’t harm the team,” he said.

  “You can’t know that.”

  “I can,” Kael replied calmly. “Because he needs something.”

  Lyra studied him. “And what is that?”

  Kael’s eyes flickered faintly, lightning dancing deep within their blue.

  “Purpose. Direction. A path forward he doesn’t fully understand yet.”

  He finally turned to her.

  “He’s an anomaly. Power without allegiance. Skill without restraint. If someone else finds a way to guide that… we may not like the result.”

  “So you keep him close,” Lyra murmured.

  “Yes.”

  There was more he didn’t say.

  Belphegor was dangerous. That much was obvious. But dangerous pieces, when positioned correctly, won wars.

  And Kael had a goal far beyond raiders and petty nobles.

  Jarek shifted his hammer on his shoulder. “I still think he’s fine. Bit intense, sure. But I’ve seen worse.”

  Lyra sighed softly. “Of course you have.”

  Jarek frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing,” she replied quickly. “Forget it.”

  Explaining subtle instincts to Jarek would be like explaining poetry to a stone wall.

  Kael looked once more toward the forest.

  “Let’s hope I’m right,” he said quietly.

  Far ahead in the darkness, two shadows moved toward Greywatch Manor — one human, calculating and patient.

  The other something far harder to define.