Faros leaned back in his chair, hands clasped, eyes sharp. "You're certain about this?"

Endric gave a curt nod. "Thoros is reliable. He wouldn’t bring this forward if he had doubts."

Faros exhaled slowly, his gaze flickering toward Arelos. "And you believe this isn't just a new trade avenue for them?"

Arelos met his stare without hesitation. "No. The Hollow Hand doesn't pivot without cause. If this were about profit, we'd see signs of distribution—brokers, backdoor deals, whispers in the markets. Instead, they've gone quiet, consolidating. That suggests something bigger."

Faros studied him for a moment, then turned back to Endric. "He's right. The Hollow Hand thrives on predictability. When they shift, it's deliberate. If they're stockpiling, it means they’re gearing up for something." He tapped a finger against the desk. "And a serum with this kind of potency? That’s not just for muscle. That’s war stock."

Endric frowned. "The question is—war against whom?"

Faros let the silence stretch before answering. "That's what we need to find out." He shifted his attention back to Arelos. "Good insight. If you come across anything—anything at all—that traces back to the Hollow Hand, bring it directly to Endric."

Arelos gave a short nod. "Understood."

Faros straightened, expression firm. "For now, I need a word with Endric alone."

Arelos recognized the dismissal. He stood, nodded once, and stepped out, closing the door behind him. He considered leaving but stayed, deciding to wait for Endric. Arms crossed, he leaned against the wall, listening to the muffled voices inside. The tones were low and measured, giving nothing away.

----------------------------------------

Faros remained seated after Arelos exited, his expression unreadable as he leaned back in his chair. Fingers drummed against the armrest in slow, measured beats. "We need a report prepared for the guild leader. As soon as possible."

"Agreed," Endric said, crossing his arms. "But will they even act on it? The information is still unverified."

Faros exhaled sharply. "We can’t afford to take chances. This is serious. If Thoros is right, it means they’re stepping up their game. We need to ensure the leadership understands that."

Endric scoffed, shifting his weight. "Leadership doesn’t like to be ‘ensured’ of anything. They prefer certainty, and right now, we don’t have it."

"Then we get it." Faros’s voice was firm, brooking no argument. "Reassign a few operators specifically on Hollow Hand duty. We need eyes everywhere."

Endric raised a brow. "There might be pushback on that; we’re already stretched thin as it is."

"Pushback?" Faros leaned forward. "Since when do we let that dictate our strategy?"

Endric exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple. "It’s not about letting it dictate strategy. It’s about managing what we have. We lose too many people in one area, and we leave another weak."

Faros’s expression hardened. "I’ve got a bad feeling about this. It’s not just the serum. It’s everything. The timing, the secrecy, the foreign involvement. My gut says we’re looking at something bigger, but I can’t pinpoint it yet."

Endric studied him for a moment before shaking his head. "You think it’s bigger than just the Hollow Hand?"

Faros hesitated, then gave a slow nod. "Yes."

Endric let out a dry chuckle. "Maybe you’re just getting paranoid in your old age."

Faros smirked faintly. "I’d rather be paranoid than caught off-guard."

Endric sighed, but the amusement lingered in his eyes. "Alright, let’s prioritize that report. I’ll handle the reassignment, but I can’t guarantee it’ll go smoothly."

"I’ll handle the stakeholders; don’t worry about them," Faros reassured, waving a hand dismissively.

"Good. I don’t need another chewing out from that fat imbecile again," Endric muttered, rolling his eyes.

Faros chuckled. "You have a way of getting under his skin."

"He has a way of being insufferable," Endric countered.

Faros smirked. "I can't argue with that." Then, shifting gears, he asked, "How’s the boy settling in?"

Endric exhaled, a note of approval in his voice. "Better than I expected. He’s easy to work with—practical, quick to catch on. Has a good head on his shoulders."

Faros raised an eyebrow. "That was fast. He’s already making an impression?"

Endric chuckled, though there was a thoughtful weight to it. "Honestly, I was skeptical at first. But Mikos wasn’t exaggerating—the boy is sharp. Almost frighteningly so at times."

Faros leaned in, eyes narrowing slightly. "How so?"

Endric rubbed his chin, pausing to collect his thoughts. "He processes information faster than half our analysts. I gave him old reports—things we'd already combed through several times. He caught three inconsistencies in an hour that we’d overlooked for weeks."

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Faros let out a low whistle. "That’s impressive. Has he run into any roadblocks?"

Endric shook his head. "Not in terms of ability. But he’s cautious, often lingering in the background during discussions. It’s as if he’s taking notes in his mind, mapping our dialogues. There’s a desire in him to jump in, but he holds himself back."

"That restraint could be either good or bad," Faros mused. "Keep an eye on him, but let him find his own footing."

Endric exhaled. "He’s certainly not wasting any time."

Faros nodded, then shifted. "What's the latest on the northern threat?"

Endric’s expression darkened slightly. "Nothing new. He’s either consolidating or switching up his strategy, but we haven’t observed any significant moves over the last several months."

Faros exhaled slowly. "The reports we've received so far still chill me to the bone."

Endric raised an eyebrow. "Is that a pun?"

Faros chuckled. "Unintended."

Endric smirked, shaking his head. "You need to watch yourself. Someone might think you're developing a sense of humor."

Faros snorted before steering the conversation back. "Now—about the Avrolios case. Anything new?"

Endric’s expression shifted, growing serious. "We’ve managed to identify the arbiter who met with the late Lord Avrolios the day before his murder."

Faros’s eyebrows rose. "And?"

Endric leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Lord Jorvan Nivario."

Faros went still. A slow breath passed through his nose before he finally spoke. "The king’s confidante?"

Endric confirmed with a nod. "The very same."

Faros’s fingers drummed against the desk. "What possible reason could he have to meet with the Avrolios patriarch? Especially this far from the capital."

Endric tapped the table lightly. "That’s what we need to figure out. If Nivario had a hand in this, it changes everything."

Faros exhaled sharply. "We need more than speculation. Get me something solid."

"We’re working on it, but these things take time."

Faros nodded, though the impatience in his eyes was evident. "And what about the mother?"

Endric hesitated. "We might have a lead on her lineage. But..."

Faros narrowed his eyes. "But what? Don’t keep me in suspense."

Endric took a deep breath. "I’m not sure about the source. It’s sketchy at best, so I hesitate to relay anything too soon."

Faros frowned. "Sketchy how? You know we can’t afford to dismiss leads at this stage."

Endric’s jaw tightened. "I get it, and I’m not suggesting we dismiss it. I just feel waiting to verify is the right move here."

Faros’s frustration flickered. "We could miss something crucial while we’re waiting."

Endric met his gaze evenly. "I understand; believe me. But half-baked theories won’t do us any favors."

Faros sighed, leaning back, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "You’re right. I'm just not used to feeling like I'm not seeing the whole picture."

Endric smirked. "Perhaps we never saw the whole picture to begin with."

Faros chuckled dryly. "Perhaps. Okay, I won’t push for now. Just keep your ear to the ground—I have a feeling this might be important."

Endric stood, his posture sharp. "Understood. I’ll handle it."

As Faros glanced at the door Arelos had exited, he turned back to Endric. "And keep an eye on the boy. If he’s as sharp as you say, he’ll see things we miss. Just make sure he doesn’t run too fast for his own good."

Endric smirked. "I’ll make sure he doesn’t trip."

Faros looked off toward the window. "Let’s just hope none of us do."

Faros remained still for a moment, his gaze fixed on the window as if searching for something beyond the glass. The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken thoughts.

At last, he straightened, rolling his shoulders as if shedding his frustration. “I need to have a word with both Voralis and Mikos.” He paused, then added, “I’ll be heading to the orphanage—I might as well bring the boy with me.”

----------------------------------------

Viktor shifted his weight, arms crossed, eyes locked on the training room’s entrance. His frown deepened with each passing second.

“Where is Arelos?” he muttered. “He’s never late.”

Soren glanced around, rolling a shoulder. “Maybe he got caught up with Mikos or something.”

Fenric, already stretching, smirked. “Or maybe he’s actually busy overthrowing the kingdom without us.”

Viktor shot him a look. “Not funny.”

Fenric shrugged. “A little funny.”

Soren exhaled, glancing at the door again. “Still. It is weird. He’s never late.”

Viktor's unease settled like a weight in his chest. “What if something happened?”

Soren’s brow lifted. “What are you thinking, Viktor?”

Viktor hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t know. It just doesn’t sit right.”

Before anyone could respond, the door swung open. Arelos stepped in—but he wasn’t alone. Faros and Mikos flanked him, their presence sending murmurs rippling through the trainees.

Soren squinted. “Why’s the Warden here? What’s going on?”

Fenric whistled low, grinning. “Bet he’s in trouble. Probably nicked something that wasn’t his.”

Viktor cut him a sharp glance. “Talk about projecting.”

Fenric blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Viktor smirked. “Just that stealing something at the worst possible time sounds more like something you’d do, not Arelos.”

“Tell me about it,” Soren muttered.

Fenric huffed. “First of all, rude.”

Viktor shrugged. “Second of all?”

Fenric thought for a beat. “Still rude.”

Arelos finally broke from the small cluster of figures and made his way toward them. His expression was unreadable, his posture relaxed—but something about it felt off.

“Where have you been?” Viktor asked.

“Just a small delay,” Arelos said smoothly.

Fenric crossed his arms. “A small delay doing what? And since when are you buddy-buddy with Faros?”

Arelos shrugged. “We just happened to arrive together. He needed to talk to Mikos and Voralis.”

Fenric squinted at him. “Uh-huh. And you just happened to be there?”

Arelos didn’t blink. “Apparently.”

Soren exhaled. “So, are you gonna tell us what’s actually going on, or are we playing this game all day?”

Arelos smirked. “How else am I going to be getting my entertainment?”

Fenric groaned. “Oh, come on, Arelos. Just say you’ve been recruited to be the Warden’s personal spy or something.”

Viktor shot Fenric a sideways glance. “That’s a leap.”

Fenric wagged a finger. “Is it? Is it, Viktor?”

Before Viktor could answer, he noticed Faros, Mikos, and Voralis watching them. Faros leaned in, saying something Viktor couldn’t quite catch. Mikos nodded. Then, with nothing more than a subtle exchange, they turned and left—except for Voralis, who approached them with a measured pace.

Fenric perked up. “You gonna let us lowly recruits in on the deal, Voralis?”

Voralis didn’t break stride. “Nope.”

Fenric huffed. “Oh, come on. At least tell us why Arelos is rubbing elbows with the Warden now.”

Voralis lifted an eyebrow. “Why don’t you ask Arelos that?”

Fenric threw up his hands. “I did! And he’s about as chatty as a stone wall.”

Voralis snorted. “And you think I’ll be any different?”

Fenric sighed dramatically. “It doesn’t hurt to try. Maybe you’re feeling a little treacherous today. Maybe your wage came in late, or Mikos stepped on your boots—”

Viktor shook his head. “Fen, drop it.”

Fenric glanced at him, scandalized. “Et tu, Viktor? I’m just trying to uncover the grand conspiracy.”

Voralis gave him an unimpressed look. “You’re trying to be nosy.”

Fenric pointed at him. “Same thing.”

Before anyone could escalate things further, a commanding voice rang through the space.

“Alright, time to get started. Gather round, recruits.”

Cadugan’s presence was as solid as ever, his booming voice leaving no room for argument. The room shifted, bodies moving toward him, but Viktor didn’t miss the brief glance Arelos exchanged with Voralis before stepping into line.

Something was definitely up.