I signed off on the last of the requisition orders just after sunrise. My eyes burned from reading through half-redacted reports all night, but I didn’t trust anyone else to catch the discrepancies. The Council was a circus, and the wolves still loyal to Richard were busy with containment or spin control. That left the actual war effort to me.
The war chamber smelled like damp concrete, instant coffee, and leather armor left too long in its straps. We’d taken over one of the old barracks near the tunnels, a squat stone building with too few windows and too many secrets. I liked it better than the Council chamber. It didn’t pretend to be civil, it was just maps, arguments, and soldiers who followed orders without needing to be flattered.
“They’re trying to shift again,” said Sergeant Myra
