The wind hadn't settled by the time I made it back to camp.
If anything, it had grown sharper.
The lanterns between the tents swung in restless circles, their light stretching long shadows across the packed earth paths. Most of the camp had gone quiet for the night, but a few fires still burned low where the last conversations lingered.
I walked past them without stopping.
My thoughts were louder than the wind.
Raiden's words echoed in the back of my mind.
I'm looking forward to seeing how this plays out.
Arrogant.
Infuriating.
And entirely too aware of what was happening.
He wasn't trying to stop anything.
He was watching.
Waiting.
For now.
The realization settled deeper with every step I took through the camp.
Which meant one thing.
The game had already started.
And if I was going to stay ahead of it—
I couldn't keep delaying.
The training ring sat near the far edge of the camp, a wide patch of flattened dirt bordered by small stacked stones. Even at night, it was rarely empty.
Tonight was no exception.
Revik stood in the center of the ring, shirtless despite the cold, sweat gleaming across his shoulders as he swung a practice blade through the air in slow, controlled arcs.
Muir sat on one of the low stone walls nearby, watching with a cup balanced loosely in one hand.
Neither of them noticed me at first.
Revik finished his swing, rolled his shoulders, and only then glanced toward the path.
His expression shifted immediately.
"What is it?" he said.
"That look usually means something's about to explode."
Muir followed his gaze.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Time to talk."
It wasn't a question.
I stepped into the ring.
"Yes."
Muir straightened, setting the cup aside.
"And?"
For a moment, I just looked at them.
Both of them.
Revik—steady and loyal and far too blunt for his own good.
Muir—clever, impatient, carrying a crown he hadn't asked for.
I exhaled slowly.
"I'm sorry."
That was enough.
Revik dropped the practice blade into the dirt.
Muir stood.
"What happened?" he asked.
I didn't answer immediately.
Instead, I started with the part that mattered.
"The trafficking network exists."
Muir's jaw tightened.
"I assumed as much."
"It's not just smugglers."
Now both of them were watching me carefully.
"It's organized," I continued. "Structured. Protected."
Muir crossed his arms.
"And the palace?"
I held his gaze.
"Yes."
The silence that followed was immediate.
Heavy.
Revik looked between us.
"Protected how?"
I hesitated.
Just long enough for Muir to notice.
His eyes sharpened instantly.
"Lyra."
There was no avoiding it now.
"The harbor minister is terrified of someone," I said quietly.
"Not criminals. Not smugglers."
I paused.
"The King."
The words landed like a hammer.
Muir didn't move.
Didn't blink.
But something in his expression shifted.
Revik spoke first.
"That's a hell of an accusation."
"I know."
Muir finally exhaled.
Slow.
Controlled.
"What exactly happened in that throne room?"
So I told them.
Everything.
The harbor.
The questions.
The minister's fear.
The king's insults.
The way the entire court watched every word like they were waiting for something to snap.
When I finished, neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Revik looked… stunned.
Muir looked furious.
But not at me.
His hands clenched slowly into fists.
"That bastard," he said under his breath.
The words came out like a curse.
He turned away suddenly, pacing across the edge of the ring.
"For years he's talked about stability. About protecting the kingdom."
His voice hardened.
"And the whole time he's letting children disappear through his ports."
I watched him carefully.
Waiting for the anger to shift toward me.
It didn't.
Instead, he stopped and looked back at me.
"You should have told me sooner."
I nodded.
"I know."
"You thought I'd run straight to him."
"Yes."
He huffed a quiet laugh.
"You're not wrong."
The tension eased slightly.
Not much.
But enough.
Revik was still staring at me.
"You didn't tell me either."
That one landed harder.
His voice wasn't angry.
Just hurt.
"I trust you," I said.
"Then why—"
Before I could answer, Muir cut in.
"Revik."
Revik looked at him.
Muir raised an eyebrow.
"You really think you could have kept that from me? Lyra wouldn't put you in that position."
Revik blinked.
"I—"
He opened his mouth to argue.
Then stopped.
"…fine."
The corner of my mouth twitched despite everything.
The tension cracked just enough to let everyone breathe again.
But it didn't last.
Muir's expression hardened again.
"So," he said quietly,
"if this is true…"
He looked out toward the dark ocean beyond the camp.
"…then he shouldn't be king."
The words settled into the night like falling stones.
Revik straightened.
"You're talking about treason. Against your father."
"I'm talking about justice."
Muir turned back toward us.
"We don't storm the palace."
"Not yet."
His gaze sharpened.
"We find proof."
Real proof.
Documents.
Witnesses.
Anything that ties the network directly to the throne.
"And when we do?" Revik asked.
Muir's jaw tightened.
"Then we expose him."
Silence fell again.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
Because we all understood what that meant.
Not rebellion.
Not exactly.
But something close.
A challenge to the crown.
A quiet coup.
Revik rubbed the back of his neck.
"You realize that once we start this…"
"There's no turning back," Muir finished.
"Yes."
Another voice spoke quietly from the edge of the ring.
"That is usually how truth works."
All three of us turned.
Tadewi stood in the shadows beside the lantern post, hands folded neatly in front of her.
How long she had been there was impossible to tell.
Muir frowned slightly.
"You were listening."
"I was observing."
He sighed.
"Great. Now everyone's observing."
Tadewi stepped forward into the lantern light.
Muir looked at her carefully.
"You understand what we're talking about."
"Yes."
"And you're not trying to stop us."
She tilted her head slightly.
"Why would I?"
Revik gestured vaguely toward the palace.
"Because removing a king is… complicated."
Tadewi considered that.
"Sometimes."
Muir studied her.
"This would be usurping the crown."
For a moment, Tadewi said nothing.
Then she smiled faintly.
"Is it truly usurping," she asked gently,
"if the crown was never meant for him?"
The wind shifted again across the camp.
And suddenly, the future felt much closer than it had that morning.