Chapter 302: Finch’s First Report (Part 2)

Chapter 302: Chapter 302: Finch’s First Report (Part 2)

Chapter 302: Finch’s First Report (Part 2)

"I reviewed the new governor’s mathematics," Sirius wrote plainly. "Finch believes he is losing his mind over three missing people. Finch is not losing his mind. Finch is a genius at addition. The ledger is genuinely bleeding."

The Underworld Don did not sound panicked. He delivered the bad news with the exact same cold, calculated tone he used to discuss shipping routes and smuggling fees.

"I sent my best runners into the eastern quarter to find his missing laborers," Sirius detailed. "My runners know how to check the shadows. The shadows are completely empty. Information has a heavy price in this world. But missing information usually costs significantly more."

Sirius ended the note with a final, chilling observation.

"I am not flagging this as a generic concern. I am flagging this for you specifically. Watch your back. The warning is free."

Draven read the torn scrap of paper a second time.

The loud, joyful sounds of the harvest feast around him slowly faded into a dull, distant hum. He stared at the ink. He did not see words. He saw the cold, brutal geometry of the battlefield unfolding in his mind.

He remembered standing in the center of the ruined command warehouse in Bastion Nine. He remembered Nyx staring in utter horror at her own hands, realizing she had looked directly at a quiet administrative aide and dismissed her own lethal instincts.

He remembered how the fragment of Malakor had operated.

The ancient god had not heralded his arrival with a roar or a burning building. For six weeks, he had worn a soot-stained uniform and balanced water ledgers. He remained unnoticed because he made himself the single most mundane detail in the entire city.

The shape of what Draven was reading now matched that pattern with frightening precision.

’Three individuals are unaccounted for,’ Draven concluded, his heart beating with a cold and steady rhythm. ’Not killed out there in the street. Just disappeared from the records. Anomalies that exist only at a microscopic level.’

He had seen this exact fingerprint once before, and it had cost a Lord Commander his life before anyone recognized it for what it was.

Draven calmly folded up the parchment paper.

His initial, violent instinct was to stand up, draw his dark blade, and order Strike Team Zero to march straight back down the northern trade road.

What he wanted to do was secure the eastern quarter, rip up the cobblestones, and chase into the darkness where the hemorrhaging ledger was coming from.

But he held back.

He looked across the table. Aegon was laughing out loud because of a rather witty and sarcastic remark that Nyx had just said. Reina was grinning, the lantern light catching the edge of her face. Lucien was twirling a glass of water around.

They had just survived a war.

They were presently recovering from their broken ribs, damaged mana circulatory system, and immense physical exhaustion.

Draven balanced the truth against his fears.

’It is only a difference of three people,’ he mused to himself, not letting fear dictate his next move. ’It can just as well be a frightened family who slipped through the borders in search of a better existence elsewhere. It could just as well be any ordinary smuggling syndicate after war laborers.’

He refused to jump at shadows. He would not mobilize an exhausted squad and ruin the first night of peace they had earned off the back of a single, ambiguous mathematical error.

Draven reached into his black coat and retrieved a small, blank piece of parchment and a charcoal pencil.

He placed the paper flat on the table, safe from any stray drops of wine or from the plates of roasted meat. He gave precise, concise orders. He did not call for a brutal military operation. He called for a suffocating net.

"Valerius Finch," he wrote. "Your numbers are valued. There is no need for you to change your schedule. Do not advertise a bounty on the runaways to the world. Continue to keep your ledgers as you have all along."

He drafted a second, separate note for Sirius.

"Do not engage," he instructed the Underworld Don. "Put two of your most silent watchers on the last known locations of the missing clerk and laborers. I want eyes on the addresses, not inside them. If the shadows move, send a runner. Do not touch the anomaly."

He signed the wax seal with his thumb and handed the folded letters back to the waiting shadow-runner.

SWISH.

The runner vanished into the darkness of the Academy roof.

Draven tucked the pencil back into his coat. He took a slow breath, forcing the cold tension out of his shoulders. He reached for his glass of water, intending to seamlessly rejoin the celebration.

He looked to his right.

Estella was watching him. Her bright violet eyes were locked completely onto his face. She was not eating. She had tracked the shadow-runner’s arrival.

She had observed him reading the scroll. But more importantly, she had witnessed the minute, terrifying change in his posture when he realized the subtle threat in it.

It took him only sixty seconds to put on his old, calculated mask, and she had observed each and every second of that.

Estella leaned slightly closer to him. The loud arguments of the squad perfectly masked her quiet voice.

"You went away just then," Estella noted softly.

Draven looked at her. He did not give a well-crafted lie to her. He did not say to her that it was just a simple message from a trader.

"Just read a report from the eastern quarter," Draven said.

Estella searched his pitch-black eyes. She saw the heavy, calculated weight sitting behind them. She did not investigate further nor did she request a report from him detailing the intricacies of the new threat. It was just her way of ensuring that he knew he wasn’t out there in the dark by himself.

"Do we have to leave this table?" Estella asked softly, her tone decisive and ready for anything that might be asked of her.

Draven looked at the delightful food, the jovial team, and the lit lanterns hung in the courtyard.

"No," he responded softly, his eyes softening when he looked back at her. "Not today. Eat your bread."

She gave him a small, knowing smile. She leaned her shoulder into his in a silent gesture of camaraderie, and took up her cup. There was indeed an imminent threat in the south, but Draven made a decision to allow the shadows to wait until morning.