[Draven’s POV]

The war council fills the chamber with the smell of leather and lamp oil and the particular tension of soldiers who know what’s coming.

I’ve assembled the full command. Sera to my right, Theron at my left, and Riven leaning against the far wall. The senior warriors — Torren, Maret, Seren, a dozen others — lined along the table.

“Aldric is bringing a fleet,” I say. “Twenty-eight warships confirmed, twelve allied vessels from minor houses along the Strait. Estimated arrival: four to five weeks. This is an invasion.”

The room absorbs it. Torren’s scarred hands flatten on the table, and Maret’s eyes narrow.

“Additionally, we have confirmed that a second intelligence channel is active inside this compound. Someone with access to operational documents has been feeding Mintia real-time data. Sera is running a counter-intelligence operation to identify the source.”

Sera steps forward.

“We’ve seeded three distinct pieces of false information through separate access points. Each version contains a unique detail — a fabricated patrol change, a fictional supply route, and an invented meeting schedule. Only one version passes through each access point. Whichever detail surfaces in the enemy’s next communication tells us exactly which channel the leak is using.”

“How long before we know?” Torren asks.

“The dead drop is monitored daily. If the source maintains their current frequency, we’ll have confirmation within forty-eight hours.”

Torren nods. He’s not satisfied — satisfaction isn’t in his vocabulary — but he accepts the logic.

“Strategic assessment,” I say, and turn to Riven.

My brother pushes off the wall and approaches the map. The warriors watch him with a respect that has everything to do with the scars on his knuckles.

“We can’t match Aldric in open water. Forty ships against our coastal fleet of twelve is a losing proposition no matter how you arrange the numbers—” He traces the coastline with his finger.

“But we don’t need to fight in open water. The approaches to this compound are a defender’s dream — narrow channels, submerged reefs, tidal patterns that change the navigable depth every six hours. Aldric’s numerical advantage evaporates the moment he enters our coastal waters.”

“The harbor approach?” Theron asks.

“Fortified. Cliff batteries on both flanks, harbor chains at the narrows, catapult positions covering two hundred yards. An attacking fleet comes through a single file. We bleed them for hours.”

“He won’t come single file,” Seren says. “He’ll bombard from a distance, then rush the narrows with sacrificial ships.”

“Which is why we don’t rely on the harbor alone.” Riven moves his finger east.

“The western cliffs are a killing ground. The harbor narrows are a chokepoint, but the eastern approach through the Shattered Coast — we’ve always considered it impassable for warships.”

“It is impassable for warships,” Maret says.

“For warships, yes. For shallow-draft longboats during the spring tide — three days per cycle when the reef submerges — it’s passable. Two hundred soldiers could land on the eastern flats while we’re engaged at the harbor.”

Warriors exchange glances. The Shattered Coast has been an afterthought for generations — an assumption of safety that no one questioned.

“Who identified this vulnerability?” Torren asks.

“Evelyn,” I say. “She mapped our entire coastline during her time with the fishing patrols. The tidal patterns, the reef cycles, the navigable channels. She brought it to me three weeks ago.”

Torren’s expression doesn’t change, but something moves behind his eyes — the veteran recalculating, again, what this woman represents.

“The eastern approach needs a dedicated defense force,” Riven continues. “Independent command, positioned to intercept a landing party before they can establish a beachhead. If Aldric’s secondary force comes through the Shattered Coast, they need to meet resistance the moment they hit shore.”

The discussion sharpens. Theron raises supply logistics, and Maret argues for concentrating at the harbor. Riven counters that a screening force against two hundred is a speed bump.

Sera weighs in — if the spy is neutralized, Aldric loses his window, and the eastern assault becomes a blind gamble.

I listen. The voices layer over each other — professional, focused, urgent. I notice something that settles into my chest like a breath I’ve been holding for weeks.

The warriors are engaged. Not fractured by politics, not whispering about Evelyn’s bloodline.

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