Harold was reviewing supply tallies late that evening when there was a knock at the door.

  “Enter.”

  The guard stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Captain Hale and Margaret have returned, my lord. Bethel is with them.”

  Harold set the papers aside. “Send them in.”

  The door opened, and Hale entered first, brushing dust from his gloves as he stepped across the threshold, speaking to Margaret over his shoulder as she followed close behind.

  “When he reaches the border mountains, we’ll have to push through to meet him. That stretch hasn’t been cleared. You know how the mountains are.”

  "Exactly the sort of thing you enjoy," Margaret replied dryly.

  They both halted just inside the room when they saw Harold. Behind them, Bethel entered, pausing for an instant before proceeding inside.

  Her cane tapped the stone in soft, deliberate rhythm. This was her first time in the Landing, first in the keep, and she took it in without rushing. The desk. The shelves. The brazier. The window overlooking the town she had only heard described.

  Harold stepped around the desk and clasped Hale on the shoulder before pulling Margaret briefly into an embrace.

  “You made the journey safely,” he said.

  “She did,” Hale replied. “No incidents.”

  Margaret gave a faint smile. "Dalen’s hold was… instructive. I’m more thankful than ever I came here."

  Hale snorted. “We should send every complainer there for a week.”

  Bethel’s eyes moved to Harold. “The progress you’ve made here is remarkable. If Henri understood the scale of it, he would not ignore it.”

  Harold’s gaze dropped briefly to her cane before returning to her face. “You understand why we brought you here.”

  “I do,” Bethel said. “My perk draws attention that would not be kind. You understand how easily something like it could be twisted.”

  There was no bitterness in her voice. Only acceptance.

  She stepped forward and placed a hand against his cheek, light and steady.

  The effect was immediate.

  The pressure he had grown accustomed to carrying—the constant hum beneath his thoughts—receded. It lifted, allowing him to breathe freely, no longer bracing for the next blow. For a moment, he felt peace.

  Margaret’s expression sharpened toward Harold, and Bethel, having finished her task, moved past him toward the brazier. Using her cane for support, she lowered herself carefully into the chair beside it, the strain evident in her controlled movements though she showed little on her face.

  Harold knelt without thinking and took her hands.

  She looked down at him with bright, clear eyes set in a face lined by years.

  “You carry a great weight,” she said quietly. “More than most would survive. I will help you bear it where I can.”

  His throat tightened before he could stop it. The release of pressure made the emotion rise faster than he expected.

  “None of that,” Bethel murmured, brushing her thumb beneath his eye before the tear could fall. “I chose this blessing.”

  He lowered his head for a moment, just long enough to steady himself.

  Clarity struck—his thoughts aligned and the background noise faded.

  He drew a slow breath and looked up at her again.

  “Can I make you tea?” he asked. “I keep some here for Margaret.”

  Margaret watched the exchange without comment, though her eyes softened briefly before sharpening again.

  Hale shifted his weight, letting the moment settle before speaking. He didn’t rush it. He never did.

  Bethel nodded her head no gently and leaned heavily on her cane.

  “When you’re ready,” Hale said evenly, “I have deployment updates.”

  Harold rose smoothly from where he knelt, releasing Bethel’s hands, and steadied himself before moving back to his feet. He offered Bethel one last steady look as he straightened to his full height, then stepped away, creating space for the coming discussion.

  “I’m ready.”

  Hale stepped closer to the desk, hands clasped behind his back.

  “Haven is stable,” he began. “One full century remains stationed there. Rotations are working. The logistics flow is improving, and the Tatanka teams are moving without interruption. We need to find more of them.”

  He paused, measuring his next words.

  “The farming village also has one century. They’ve shifted into a mixed posture — half defensive, half labor support. With planting expanding, they’re spread thin but manageable, and morale’s good.”

  "That village must succeed," Harold said quietly.

  Hale continued. “One century is en route to the river junction. We cleared six dens from that area, and one I would call something larger than a den. It’s exposed terrain, but defensible and within the fortifications we built there, the village will have a solid defense.”

  Margaret spoke quietly. “That location will change trade patterns.”

  "It will. We just need shipbuilders," Hale agreed.

  He finally glanced toward the window, toward the yard by the small fort.

  “The Prime Century remains here,” he said. “Along with nearly another century’s worth of recruits in various stages of training. Then we have another half century in Centurion Garrick's Scout program.”

  "Nearly?" Harold asked.

  “Closer to eighty,” Hale replied. “But they’re not soldiers yet.”

  Harold folded his arms loosely.

  “If something large hit us tomorrow?” he asked.

  Hale didn’t hesitate. “We could hold the Landing. Maybe the farming village. The others would depend on the response time. I would like to think we have the advantage in perks against almost any foe within the basin, but you would know better than I.”

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  The room went quiet.

  Bethel watched them both, saying nothing.

  Margaret stepped forward slightly. "Intelligence suggests no immediate mass movement," she said. "Henri is stirring conversation, not armies. Arjun is cautious. The basin lords closer to us are watching, and there are threads we don’t fully understand yet—coded language we haven’t cracked—, but we’re tracking them."

  Harold nodded once. “So we’re stretched thin.”

  He moved toward the window and looked down at the Landing as Hale joined him.

  “How was Sarah on the way back?” Harold asked.

  There was a small pause.

  Margaret and Hale exchanged a look that was almost imperceptible.

  “She was…” Margaret began carefully.

  Hale cut in, and then, unexpectedly, he laughed.

  “Confident,” he said.

  Harold’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That doesn’t sound promising.”

  “They were riding high,” Hale admitted. “Talking through everything, they cleared. Arguing about who reacted faster in that last skirmish. They were halfway to planning the next expedition before we were even in sight of the walls.”

  Margaret allowed herself a faint smile. “They were very pleased with themselves, with one exception.”

  Harold exhaled through his nose. “And then?” he asked.

  Hale’s grin widened.

  “And then,” he said, “the moment they stepped into the fields around the Landing, they tried to turn toward the bathhouse.”

  Margaret actually laughed under her breath.

  “They didn’t even make it halfway across the field,” Hale continued. “Centurion Garrick appeared out of nowhere. I don’t know how he does that. One moment, they were striding like conquering heroes. The next time he was standing behind them, asking why they were late to his scout class.”

  Harold’s mouth twitched.

  “He didn’t raise his voice at first,” Hale said. “Just asked them what time training began. Then asked what time it was now. Then, they asked whether success in the field exempted them from discipline.”

  Margaret shook her head. “It was almost impressive how quickly their expressions changed.”

  Hale chuckled. “He laid into them. In front of the recruits whom he brought with him. Asked if surviving one expedition meant they thought themselves finished products.”

  Harold murmured, “I bet that went over well.”

  “Oh, it did not,” Hale said dryly. “Jace tried to argue timing. Garrick cut him off mid-sentence and reassigned him to demonstration duty.”

  Margaret smiled more openly now. “By the time they marched toward the training yard, they looked considerably less invincible.”

  Harold nodded slowly. “That’s good,” he said.

  “They were still excited on the ride home,” Margaret added. “Still talking about what they’d seen. But I had an interesting conversation with Theo on the way back.”

  Harold shifted his attention fully to her.

  “What kind of interesting?”

  Margaret’s expression settled, the humor fading.

  “She didn’t know I spoke to him,” Margaret said quietly. “Theo waited until the others were ahead of us on the trail.”

  Hale glanced at her, then back to Harold. He hadn’t known either.

  “He asked me if they were doing the right thing,” Margaret continued. “Not in a rebellious way. Not accusing Sarah. Just… asking.”

  He said every time they go out, he’s the one who comes back bleeding. Not that he was complaining or asking to stop—he just wanted to know if that pattern meant something.

  Hale’s jaw tightened slightly while Harold looked interested.

  “He was shaken by the Thresher King,” Margaret said. “More than he let on. Being pierced by an arrow like that, realizing how close it came to ending there. He said he felt the risk in a way the others didn’t understand.”

  She paused.

  “I didn’t realize he was the one injured in the dungeon as well,” she added. “Or the troll. Or when they ran from the kobolds with the relic.”

  Harold’s gaze shifted briefly to Hale.

  “Every time,” Margaret said softly. “It’s him.”

  Silence stretched between them.

  “He asked me if that meant they were making the wrong decisions,” she continued. “If being the one who takes the damage is just bad luck, or if it means something’s off in how they’re moving.”

  She looked at Harold directly now.

  “He didn’t know whether to push back on Sarah or keep trusting her instinct. He didn’t know if caution was weakness.”

  Hale exhaled slowly. “What did you tell him?” Harold asked.

  Margaret folded her hands loosely in front of her.

  “I told him that fear isn’t a sign you’re doing something wrong,” she said. “And I told him that if he’s the one always bleeding, he has a responsibility to understand why. But I also told him that being the person who stands up for his friends is a strength, but he should understand why.”

  The room was quiet again, as Harold thought about what Margaret revealed.

  Harold stood there a moment longer, eyes on the window but not really seeing the Landing below.

  He gave a low grunt. “Good,” he said finally. “That’s… good.”

  It was enthusiasm held tight, and Hale and Margaret both understood the feeling. Harold turned back toward them.

  “I sent a diplomat to Arjun,” he said. “He left yesterday.”

  Margaret’s brow lifted slightly. “Without warning him? That’s… an option.”

  “Yeah.” Harold moved back toward the desk. “He doesn’t know they’re coming.”

  Margaret studied him. “You’re trying to separate him from Henri.”

  “Yes, but I’m trying to give him a better option,” Harold replied evenly. “If he sees this place for himself, it becomes harder to stand with someone else when we can offer so much more.”

  Hale nodded slowly. “And if he refuses?”

  “Then he refuses,” Harold said. “But he won’t be able to say he wasn’t given a choice, and I can begin to move more openly.”

  Margaret’s expression tightened slightly. “What was the surprise?”

  Harold allowed himself the faintest edge of a smile. “Our new farming village mayor had some interesting people; you’re going to love him.”

  The smile faded just as quickly.

  “Which means we need to begin preparing for the next phase.”

  Hale straightened almost imperceptibly.

  “The two sites to the northwest,” Harold said. “We’re claiming them.”

  Margaret exhaled quietly. “That’s aggressive.”

  “It’s necessary,” Harold replied. “If Henri is consolidating conversation, we consolidate ground. Lords are already upgrading to towns. I intend to stay ahead of that curve.”

  His gaze shifted briefly toward the dark horizon beyond the basin.

  “And the longer this goes on,” he added, “the more I find myself looking beyond this basin entirely.”

  Hale’s expression shifted into calculation. “We don’t have the manpower to defend two more villages properly.”

  “We don’t,” Harold agreed. “Not today.”

  He stepped closer to the desk.

  “I told Anil he has two weeks to train administrative teams. At the end of that, we’ll dispatch them to the northern site. Two weeks after that, the southern.”

  Margaret’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s tight.”

  “It will require pulling recruits from the other villages,” Harold said, looking to Hale. “You’ll handle the rotations. Garrick and Carter proposed letting centurions train recruits at their posts while we bring promising soldiers back here to be trained as centurions themselves.”

  Hale nodded slowly. “Standardization through leadership.”

  “I like it,” Harold said. “It scales.”

  He met both their eyes.

  “I need those villages placed. And I need the dungeons near them cleared and looted consistently.”

  The room held that for a breath.

  Then Bethel stamped her cane against the stone floor. The sound was sharp enough to cut through the momentum of the discussion.

  “Enough,” she said.

  Hale and Margaret both turned toward her.

  “You speak of villages, dungeons, rotations, and expansion,” Bethel continued, shifting her weight carefully. “You have returned from travel, and none of you has slept properly in days.”

  Her eyes settled on Harold. “Work will still be here after you eat.”

  Harold opened his mouth to protest while Bethel lifted her cane slightly.

  “I did not come here to watch you grind yourself into the stone,” she said.

  Margaret’s lips twitched, and Hale looked almost amused.

  Harold exhaled through his nose. “We’re in the middle of—”

  “You are in the middle of nothing that cannot wait an hour,” Bethel replied calmly. “And if it cannot, then you have built something fragile.”

  Margaret stepped back first. “Dinner does sound reasonable.”

  Harold stared at Bethel for a moment longer, then gave in with a small shake of his head.

  “You’re going to be difficult,” he muttered.

  “Yes, I am,” Bethel said.

  She turned toward the door and began to shuffle forward, her cane tapping in a steady rhythm.

  Harold moved instinctively to her side. He offered his arm, and after a brief look at him, she took it.

  He adjusted his pace without comment, guiding her carefully over the threshold.

  Behind them, Margaret and Hale exchanged a look before following.