It smelled like lamp oil and old paper.

  Cato stood at the main table in a cramped office within the garrison, flipping through an interrogation transcript. Prefect Stravan leaned against the map wall, arms crossed. Prefect Tiberius sat in the corner, working through a stack of supply requisitions.

  "This fighter says they knew about one of the Xerxes runs four days before it came." Cato set the transcript aside.

  He picked up another page: a different interrogation, but the same story. The Black Hand was still receiving steady information.

  He moved to the requisition forms spread across the table. Castor had pulled them from the armoury logs yesterday.

  All signed by an officer who didn't exist.

  "Major Valex Coven." Cato tapped one of the forms. "He signed off on a request for two hundred Strix rifles. Released three weeks ago."

  "He’s a ghost in the militia roster," Stravan said. "I checked twice."

  "Where'd the rifles go?"

  "No idea. They left the armoury. But never showed up at any militia or garrison outpost according to the logs I’ve reviewed."

  Cato set the form down and grabbed another. Same signature. Medical supplies this time. Enough to outfit a platoon. Released a week ago. Gone.

  "How many of these has he signed on?" he asked.

  Tiberius didn't look up from his stack. "Eleven confirmed so far. Could be more buried in the older logs."

  Cato walked to the map. Red marks covered the highways where high-value convoys had been hit.

  "This goes higher up the chain than I’m comfortable with.”

  "I agree." Stravan pushed off the wall. "They know when we're moving, what we're carrying, how many troops we have. Someone's feeding them everything they need."

  "Who gets briefed on convoy schedules besides our staff?"

  "The senior militia staff. Battalion-level commanders and above — same as us. Maybe ten officers." Stravan paused. "And the Governor's chosen staff."

  Cato turned. "How often?"

  "They’re given full operational briefings every seven days. Any convoy that goes over Territory lines gets included in the report — with its cargo manifest, route, and escort details."

  Tiberius finally looked up from the requisitions. "You still think Levian's involved?"

  "I think someone in these briefings is." Cato moved back to the table.

  "The militia leadership are all his appointments," Stravan offered. "Every officer was put into their post by him or promoted after he arrived.”

  “They've been difficult since we got here. Slow responses. Jurisdictional complaints to High Command. Excuses when we ask for supplies." Tiberius leaned back in his chair, his pile forgotten.

  Cato picked up the casualty report from Varro's convoy. A hundred and sixty-three names. Most of them dead. "Either Levian knows, and he's complicit, or he doesn't, and he's incompetent."

  Stravan's expression darkened. "Arresting a territorial governor will be complicated."

  "Everything about this is complicated." Cato set the report down. "How many militia troops are in the Territory?"

  "A little under seven thousand. Mostly stationed around the city."

  Tiberius stood and moved to the table. "If the militia resists, it’ll break the Territory from Imperial control."

  "The Territory will break anyway if we can’t supply our troops; these attacks need to be stopped." Cato looked at the evidence spread before him. Everything was too connected, too precise to be a coincidence.

  The door opened.

  Varro stepped inside, still wearing his patrol cuirass. Dust covered his boots.

  "Uncle."

  "How are your platoons?"

  "Reforming still. I have replacements integrating from the Auxiliary pool; my adjudant is drafting their contracts." Varro glanced at the table. "Still working on the convoy issue?"

  "We are."

  Varro waited for more. Cato didn't offer it.

  "I'll let you work, then." Varro saluted and turned toward the door.

  "Nephew."

  He stopped.

  "Get some rest. You can take off duty for the night."

  "Yes, sir, thank you."

  The door closed behind him.

  Stravan stepped closer to the table. "What's the next step?"

  "I need to talk to Levian. I want to see how he squirms." Cato picked up the casualty report from the most recent convoy. "If he's involved, he'll show it."

  "And if he doesn't?"

  "Then we keep looking." Cato set the report on top of the pile. "But I don't think we'll need to."

  Tiberius crossed his arms. "When?"

  "Tomorrow morning, before the day's meetings. I want to speak to him about some new security policies I have."

  "He'll know you're watching him."

  "Good."

  Stravan nodded and moved toward the door. "I'll have troops ready if needed."

  "Quietly."

  "Understood."

  He left. Tiberius lingered at the table.

  "This could go wrong," he said.

  Cato looked at the casualty reports. The convoy schedules. The evidence of a leak that had been bleeding his regiment for weeks.

  "It already has, my friend."

  Cato left the garrison compound before dawn broke fully over Lantis.

  Four soldiers from First Cohort walked with him as an honour guard. The streets were nearly empty at this hour — a few factory workers heading to early shifts and militia soldiers switching rotation posts were the only other faces they saw.

  They travelled through the western district, passing shuttered market stalls and apartment windows.

  The militia barracks sat silent as they walked. A few sentries on the walls. Otherwise still. The villa was just beyond, close enough that Governor Ravon could make it to the barracks in minutes if he needed to. The guards at the entrance straightened when Cato approached. One knocked. Summoning the steward who led him inside without comment — the same routine as always.

  Levian was already in his study when Cato entered, standing near the windows with a cup in his hand. He turned and gestured to the chairs.

  "Acting Tribune." His tone was carefully neutral. "Quite the early visit."

  "I wanted to speak before your duties took you for the day." He sat.

  Levian moved to his desk and poured a second cup from the pot, sliding it across. Some local blend that smelled faintly of herbs. They'd been through this dance enough times now that the small courtesies felt automatic.

  "The convoy disaster that happened three days ago. I heard it was costly."

  "Centurion Martis lost over a hundred and fifty men. As well as having five trucks captured with full cargo." Cato wrapped his hands around the cup. Still hot. "Two warbands hit them on the Xerxes highway."

  Levian nodded slowly, his expression blank. "Bad business. The Black Hand's been more active lately."

  "Very. Twelve convoys have been hit in the last three weeks. Varro's was just the worst."

  "Twelve." Levian took a drink of his tea. "That's more than I realised."

  "It's been consistent. They're hitting the supply-and-trade runs the hardest. Targeting high-value cargo." Cato kept his tone professional. "Almost sixty thousand denarii in pure ingot was captured last time."

  "Your investigation is still ongoing, I presume?"

  "It is."

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  "As I’ve stated before, if there's anything my staff can do to assist—"

  "I'll let you know." Cato took a drink. The tea was bitter. "There's another matter I wanted to discuss."

  "Of course."

  "The militia. I'm changing their deployment starting next week."

  Levian looked up. "In what way?"

  "Right now, they're on security details and outpost rotations in the city and surrounding area. Light duties, if I’m being honest." Cato set his cup down. "I'm integrating them into more active joint operations with my forces. Convoy escorts. Raids on Black Hand positions. You get the picture."

  Levian's expression shifted. "That's a significant change from their current assignments."

  "It's necessary, Governor. The Auxiliaries are stretched as it is, and this far from my regiment's homelands, we can not easily fill losses. I have seven thousand militia troops in this Territory. Most of them are sitting in outposts or the garrison while my men take casualties on the highways."

  "The militia's needed for security—"

  "The Imperial district is secure. The rest of the city outside our controlled area is still a warzone, yes? Which is exactly why I need more troops for escort. The Black Hand isn't hitting our outposts. They're hitting our supply lines."

  "My troops are trained for territorial security, not frontline combat—"

  "They're Imperial soldiers nonetheless; they may not have faced the Exustus, but they'll adapt." Cato leaned forward slightly. "And they're under my operational command. That was established when I arrived."

  Levian's jaw tightened. "Some of those men have only been soldiers for months. They know how to hold their post. They're familiar with the surrounding area of the city, but they are not—"

  "And now they'll be familiar with convoy escort procedures. The outpost will still be manned. Just with fewer troops. The bulk of militia troops will be reassigned to where they're actually needed."

  "Acting Tribune, I understand your position, but these men—"

  "Are soldiers." Cato's tone hardened slightly. "And they'll be deployed as soldiers. Prefect Stravan will coordinate the integration with your militia command staff over the next few days. Battalion commanders will receive their assignments by week's end."

  The silence stretched between them.

  Levian picked up his cup but didn't drink. "You're putting them in direct combat."

  "They're already in a warzone. Now they can do something more useful." Cato stood. "Unless you have a reason they shouldn't be trusted with these operations?"

  Levian looked up at him. "No. No reason."

  "Good." Cato moved toward the door. "I wanted to inform you directly. A professional courtesy, since most of the militia leadership are your appointments."

  "I appreciate that." Levian's voice was controlled. Too controlled. "Anything else I can assist you with?"

  "No. Stravan will handle the details."

  Levian nodded slowly. He set his cup down without having drunk from it.

  "Thank you for the notification, Acting Tribune."

  "Of course."

  Cato walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. His honour guard fell into step as he walked toward the villa's entrance. The sun was higher when he exited, light spreading across the city.

  He needed more before he could bring this to High Command, but his suspicions had been confirmed; Levian had a piece in this.

  Cigar smoke curled toward the ceiling of Cato's quarters.

  He sat at the small desk near the window, boots off, cuirass hung on its stand. The letter from Lucia lay open in front of him. Her handwriting was neat and familiar.

  I received a letter from Lucian’s ward yesterday. He wrote to say he will be home again for the winter festivals. The instructors say he's progressing well through the conditioning exercises…

  Cato took another drag from the cigar. The winter festivals wouldn’t be for another three months. His son would be nine by then. Already five years into the Ardentis program. The boy barely remembered what home looked like anymore.

  A knock at the door pulled him from the letter and his thoughts.

  "Enter."

  Prefect Stravan stepped inside. Behind him stood a militia officer wearing a muddy cuirass that looked like it had seen recent action. The man's face was pale. His hands trembled slightly.

  Cato set the letter aside and gestured to the chairs across from his desk. "Prefect."

  "Sir." Stravan closed the door behind them. "This is Captain Zelus Tovar. He has information that can help us."

  Cato looked at the Altian. The man wouldn't meet his eyes.

  "Sit," Cato said.

  Stravan settled into the chair beside Tovar, his presence steady. The officer looked like he might bolt if left alone.

  Cato leaned back and took another drag from his cigar. "Well, speak, Captain."

  Tovar nodded. "Yes, sir. I was on a convoy escort this morning, a supply run from the provinces along the southern route."

  "What happened?"

  "We got hit; badly. Halfway back to the city." Tovar's voice was quiet. Shaking. "Multiple warbands attacked us. They knew where we'd be. And had enough firepower to overwhelm us, all I could do was have my troops retreat as your trucks were taken."

  "How many did you lose?"

  "Ninety-three in the initial attack, and another twenty-two lost to their wounds on the journey back." Tovar's hands clenched on his knees. “Over a hundred men under my command gone. Just... gone."

  Cato waited.

  Stravan spoke quietly. "Tell him what you told me, Zelus."

  Tovar looked down at his hands. "I know where the information comes from. Your leak."

  "How?"

  "My unit... we've been used as guards. Outside the city. They have meetings in the hills, about ten miles east. Senior militia officers, the Governor, and other men I don't know. Armed men, they carry rifles. Not militia. Not Imperial. They’re Black Hand if I had to guess."

  Cato set the cigar down in the tray on his desk, his focus entirely on the Altian now. "You can place Governor Ravon at these meetings."

  "Yes, sir. He was present for at least three of them." Tovar looked up finally. "He talks with them. The armed men."

  "What do they discuss?"

  "I don't know. We're kept back. But after..." Tovar hesitated. "Afterwards, we get paid in silver, off the books."

  "How much?"

  "Two hundred denarii per man, and three hundred for me each time." Tovar reached into his cuirass and pulled out a cloth pouch. He set it on the desk with a small thud. "This is what is left from the last one. A week ago."

  Cato picked up the pouch and opened it. Silver coins. Imperial mint. All in ten-piece denarii.

  "You're paid in advance?”

  "Sometimes. Sometimes after." Tovar's hands were shaking again. "Other officers get more. Much more. I've seen Major Covex with gold. More than a year's pay. He has a house in the eastern district now. A nice house. And his family wears new clothes."

  "How many officers are involved?"

  "I don't know. At least the high staff and some mid-level officers who also have their troops used." Tovar looked at Stravan, then back to Cato. "I just guard the meetings. I don't ask questions."

  "Until today."

  Tovar's face crumpled slightly. "My men died because someone told the Black Hand where we'd be. I've been... I've been part of it. They’ve been doing this since before you came, and I’ve stood guard while they planned it. But this has gone too far; Altians are suffering because of their greed, my people are dying."

  The room went quiet except for the faint sounds of the garrison outside.

  Cato leaned forward. "You're willing to testify to this. Officially."

  "Yes, sir." Tovar's voice was barely above a whisper. "But my family... if the Governor finds out I talked..."

  "Your family will be protected." Cato looked at Stravan. "Put them in the garrison compound. They can be placed in an officer's quarters."

  "It’s already arranged, they're being moved tonight."

  Cato turned back to Tovar. "Your family will be safe, but you need to keep this concealed until we arrest the Governor and the other officers involved. After that is accomplished, you'll testify at the trial. If your testimony holds, you and your family will be relocated out of Alta."

  Tovar nodded slowly. "Thank you, sir."

  "Don't thank me yet." Cato picked up his cigar again. "If you're lying, or if your testimony falls apart under examination, you'll hang with the rest of them."

  "I'm not lying."

  "Good." Cato looked at Stravan. "Get him back to his unit, don't make it suspicious."

  "Yes, sir." Stravan stood. Tovar rose with him, unsteady.

  They moved toward the door. Tovar stopped and looked back.

  "Sir... the convoy today. My men. They were good soldiers."

  "I'm sure they were."

  Tovar nodded and left with Stravan.

  The door closed. Cato sat alone in his quarters, the cigar smoke still curling toward the ceiling. He looked at the silver coins on his desk. Then, at the letter from Lucia.

  He stubbed out the cigar and pulled a blank report sheet from his desk drawer. He dipped his pen in ink and began writing.

  To Imperator Remenus, Office of the Crucible...

  The field telephone sat in the corner of the command post.

  Cato walked to it and lifted the receiver. The operator answered immediately.

  "Get me the Testa estate. Priority line."

  Static crackled through as the connection routed through relay stations. It took a few minutes this far from the homelands.

  Then a voice. "Testa estate."

  "Acting Tribune Cato Martis, access code F-R-739. I need Lady Testa."

  "One moment, sir."

  The line went quiet. Background noise clipping in and out. Then:

  "Cato."

  "My Lady. I apologise for the late hour, but I need reinforcements."

  "What's happened?"

  "I'm arresting Governor Ravon on treason and conspiracy charges. We traced the leak to him, and I have testimony placing him directly at meetings with Black Hand leadership outside the city.”

  "When are you planning on executing this?"

  "Whenever High Command gives their approval. I am sending my report directly to Imperator Remenus tonight."

  "The militia." Her voice came softly, understanding immediately. "How many troops do you need?"

  “At least three thousand as soon as you can arrange it."

  "You really think they'll resist?"

  "I think some will, Levian has appointed all the senior staff himself. And if they coordinate with the Black Hand during the arrest—" Cato paused. "I need the numbers in case it goes wrong."

  The line crackled. He could hear her thinking.

  "Three thousand fresh troops will take time to organize. Contracts need to be drafted. The travel arrangements alone will need to be cleared weeks in advance."

  "Can you give me a timeline?"

  "Three weeks to get everyone contracted and outfitted. Another two weeks march to Alta." Her tone was calculating. “Can you hold that long?"

  "It looks like I’ll have to."

  "Decian should be cleared for travel before the reinforcements arrive. You’ll only need to keep the regiment together till then."

  "Understood."

  "I'll start drafting the contracts tomorrow. We can pull from House Klex first — they owe us rotation troops anyway, we updated our terms on their Vassal contract. The rest will have to be common levies." Bellona paused. "Cato, if the militia does fight, you need to do all you can to hold the Territory, with or without these troops—"

  "I am prepared for that reality; the reinforcements would just be an insurance."

  She was quiet for a moment. "I'll approve the requisition. Two Prefects from the House will be pulled from other duties to march with the cohorts and join you."

  "Thank you, my Lady."

  The line clicked. Static. Then nothing.

  Cato set the receiver back on the cradle and turned to the door.

  He left the command post and walked through the garrison compound toward the courier station. Evening had settled over Lantis.

  The duty officer looked up from his desk as he entered the station. "Sir."

  "I need this sent to Asana. It’s going to High Command, the office of Imperator Remenus."

  Cato handed him the sealed report he'd drafted an hour ago. The officer took it and checked the seal marked with Cato's official signet.

  "It'll go out with tomorrow's dispatch, sir. Should reach Asana in four days."

  "Good."

  The officer set the report in the outgoing box and logged it in the station ledger. "Anything else, sir?"

  "No. That's all."

  He left the station and walked back toward his quarters. Thinking on what he'd set in motion.