Four days without couriers, without movement on the Voss channel, without a single query slipping into the secondary archives. The silence pressed against my sternum like a held breath.
Caleb arrived in the morning. He placed a single sheet on the table and poured water into a glass. The liquid hit with a clear, steady sound that cut through the room.
I stared at the paper. My wolf stirred, claws flexing inside my ribs.
“He’s regrouping,” I said.
Caleb took a slow sip. “Not retreating. He’s pulling everything inward. Nothing left to follow.”
My hands stayed flat on the wood. The grain felt cool and unyielding beneath my palms. “How long until he spots the break?”
“Weeks. The contamination runs deep. He’ll tear through the entire structure first.” Caleb set the glass down precisely. “
