The lights hum softly above me, one of the few sets on before sunrise. Most of the compound won’t stir until daylight, save for a few early posts and patrols. Cool spring air drifts through the cracked window, carrying the smell of wet concrete and new growth against the wood heat in my office. The snow has been gone for weeks, but winter still clings to the mornings. Beyond the walls, there’s nothing stirring. No lights, no other signs of life. Just open fields and the ghosts of what used to be roads.

Dominion is the only light left in this part of the world.

Scott knocks once before stepping inside, a stack of fresh reports held tight in his hands. We start early now, reports before breakfast and orders before the rest of the base wakes. There is always something waiting.

Catherine’s old ledger is already open on my desk, one of the references I still reach for without thinking. Scott sets his reports beside it. His pages are too clean, all sharp paper edges and neat, blocky numbers. Catherine’s handwriting curls through the worn ledger between us. He glances at it before opening his own.

He tracks the page with one finger. “Weekly radio tallies came in last night from all three town hubs and our depots. Should be in a good spot for the meeting. Grain stores are holding. Dried goods are up at the new eastern town, Georgetown. They recovered stock from that collapsed store near the ridge road. Water’s stable, filtration’s clear, and tool inventories are good. Only minor losses during winter maintenance.”

He turns a page. “Population’s still slipping a little. Mostly the usual cases. Kids reaching maturity and the plague activating.” His voice catches, barely, before he continues. “If the decline stays where we expect, things stabilize by summer. Maybe sooner. We’ve still got enough people to hold the towns without pulling more from the divisions here.”

I nod. He’s getting better at this, faster too. The numbers are organized, the reports cleaner than they were when he started. “You missed her second margin.”

He blinks. “Her—”

“She kept two counts,” I say quickly, cutting him off as I tap the empty space beside his figures. “One for what we’re supposed to have, one for what we actually count. The difference tells you when something’s being wasted or walking away.”

Scott looks down and quickly writes himself a note. “Understood.”

The word comes too fast, and I hear my own tone a moment late. Sharper than I meant it. Catherine would have explained it differently. “You’re doing fine, Scott. I know this is new.”

He looks up. “Was the layout wrong?”

“No.” I pause. “It’s just different now.”

He nods once and gathers his reports. When he leaves, the quiet comes back: paper rustling down the halls, the crackle of wood in the stove, carts beginning to move through the yard below.

I pull the old ledger toward me. Catherine’s name is half rubbed from the spine. Two weeks, and already fading beneath other hands.

Outside, young voices carry through the courtyard as crates move toward storage. A gust catches the loose papers on my desk. I pin them beneath one hand, then turn Catherine’s ledger to the last page.

Her final entry stops halfway through a sentence, the line trailing beneath a tremor in the ink.

I close the book.

Breakfast runs late but efficiently. By the time we return from the officers’ mess, the compound is fully awake. Drills echo from the yards, carts move between storage buildings, and typewriters chatter through open windows in the administrative wing, an old mechanical rhythm that somehow survived everything else.

We cross back to my division’s war room. The stove is already burning when we enter. Assistants have cleared the tables, laid out the ledgers, and moved the latest maps into place. Over the winter, we added tables and pulled the map boards closer to the central desk. More officers. More territory. More work.

A few captains finish their conversations as I enter. They straighten, salute, and file into the corridor to wait. Corey gives one of his captains a light pat on the shoulder as he passes.

Christina already has her ledger open before I sit.

“Let’s finalize before the captains join us,” I say. “Keep it short.”

“Georgetown stays first,” Christina says, colored tabs marking the edge of her ledger. “The docks made it through winter, but they need reinforcement before the fishing crews start running. Storehouse roof after that, then the wave generator site. Cleanup teams are already assigned.”

Bryce nods. “Runoff’s high. If it gets much worse, the dock crews need extra coverage.”

“I can pull people from the southern hub,” Corey says. “Their maintenance runs finished early. Half of them grew up around water.”

“Do it. Keep the rotations tight.”

Christina makes the adjustment without asking for clarification. “That still leaves the storehouse.”

“Bryce’s second division.”

Bryce gives a short nod, and I turn to Scott. “Logistics.”

He flips to the marked page. “Material stocks hold through early summer. The main road toward Delaware needs patching after the freeze. We’ve got enough repair material at the Dominion depot near the old highway for the first pass.” One of the old Orbis depots. The kids call them Dominion now, same as everything else Adrian left for us to use. We’ve found enough scattered through our territory that I stopped being surprised when another turns up, though I still have no idea how many Orbis prepared.

He moves to the next mark. “Power’s improving. First wave generator at Georgetown should be running within the month. If shipments stay on schedule, the other two can be installed before the end of summer.”

“Maintenance?”

“Already rotating.”

“Good.”

Corey looks toward the map. “Safe Harbor’s coming onto the capital grid too. Dimitri’s crews got it cleared and running. Capital Operations is taking over from here.”

That changes more than the lights. Once the grid is stable, Lancaster won’t have to ration the radio room around available power. Weather, reports, anything we need from the Capital, someone can be listening instead of making the rest of us wait for a window.

We’ll still be the ones turning ours off.

Christina follows his look south along the Susquehanna. “Which means we should start on Conowingo while the weather’s with us. Get that running and tie it into the network we’re building, and most of this corridor has reliable power.”

Solar and the wave generators keep things working. Conowingo would mean not having to plan around when they don’t.

Bryce folds his arms. “That’s a bigger job than Georgetown.”

Christina nods. “Capital Operations is already taking over Safe Harbor. I’ll have them send us what Dimitri’s crews learned getting it running and pull whatever they have on Conowingo from the library. Schematics, operating manuals, maintenance procedures. No reason to figure everything out twice.”

“Do that,” I say. “Then we start before it becomes an emergency.”

Christina marks the ledger. “I’ll put together the first crew estimates.”

“Do that.”

She turns another page. “No perimeter threats. Outer patrols were quiet all week.”

“Quiet’s fine,” Bryce says. “Fewer bodies to clean up.”

“Or survivors are keeping their distance,” Corey says. “If anyone’s still out there to be a threat.”

The room stills, though not completely. Scott’s pencil keeps moving. Everyone has heard the stories.

I cut it off. “Focus on what’s ours.”

Christina immediately continues. “Weather’s holding enough for seed preparation.”

“We’ll start trays indoors,” Corey says. “Night frost is still biting.”

Bryce grunts. “Still weeks before we can put any of it in the ground.”

“Then we get a head start.”

“Controlled prep,” I say. “Weekly reports. No surprises.”

Pencils move again. By the time Christina closes the last ledger, the captains outside have begun shifting impatiently along the corridor.

“That’s everything, General. I’ll draft the schedule.”

“Keep it concise. Plans, not ideas.”

Bryce stretches his shoulders. “Still standing after our first winter.”

“It’s a start.”

Corey reaches the door first and calls the waiting captains in. Chairs scrape across the floor as they enter behind their commanders, carrying ledgers and rolled maps of their own. The room fills quickly.

I stay at the central table while they settle, studying the maps that cover nearly an entire wall now. Roads we’ve cleared. Bridges under repair. Three towns linked by radio and supply schedules. Georgetown’s docks preparing to reopen. Fields marked for spring planting. Power systems coming back one piece at a time.

None of it happens from orders alone. Scott keeps the inventories. Christina builds the schedules. Corey knows which people can be moved without leaving another job undone. Bryce keeps crews protected while they work. Captains I barely knew months ago now walk into this room with problems and leave with assignments.

It works, and that matters.

Adrian gave us the structure to make it possible. Dominion survived the winter, and now it’s becoming something harder to uproot. Not just people waiting to die, but something that might last.

Christina clears her throat, and the room settles.

I turn back to the table. “All right. Let’s begin.”

---

By late afternoon, the council chamber smells of stone and thaw. Spring air moves through the tall windows, cutting through the stale warmth that gathered there over winter. Light crosses the banners lining the walls: sunburst, ring, flame, clock, and compass, each marked with the Dominion eye. Above them hangs the original insignia, the star behind it catching the light.

We haven’t seen Adrian in weeks. He’s buried himself in long-term planning, sending sealed messages and written directives while the rest of us handle the daily work. Most of what comes down is broad enough to leave us room: conserve fuel, keep patrols useful, put people and supplies toward work that strengthens the settlements instead of chasing problems that may not exist. His requests from me have been more specific lately. Not how far we’ve scouted down the peninsula, but how much of it we actually hold. Which roads can still carry regular supply runs, how far those runs can reliably reach, and updated maps showing the difference between routes we’ve traveled and territory we can support.

We take our usual seats, Cassian to my right, Kira and Dimitri across from us, Ronan beside me. The aides distribute the latest reports, refill cups, and leave. The doors close behind them.

Elias used to stay behind. When Adrian stopped attending, his strategic commander sat in the corner and carried our reports back to him. It made every disagreement feel official before we’d even finished having it. Eventually, we decided we didn’t need an audience. If Adrian wanted the result of the meeting, he could have it. He didn’t need every argument that got us there.

Now I keep the notes. Mara, Adrian’s communications commander, gets them afterward and makes sure whatever matters reaches him.

Dimitri goes first. Health. Internal order. Nothing unexpected. He pauses once over his notes, like there’s something else there, then turns the page and moves on.

Cassian follows. “No raids on the northern settlements this month. Supply routes are clear. Patrols are steady. Most towns have started clearing ground for spring planting. We’ll see if the quiet holds once it warms up. A few of the local groups were still causing trouble before winter.”

He checks his notes. “One of the outer settlements took in another group from the northern ridge communities. More mouths than expected, but resupply should cover the difference until production improves.” “You have enough stores for that?” I ask. “We found another Dominion cache location Adrian gave us.” Cassian shrugs. “They’re like loot boxes. Push into a new area, and every so often you get another stash his Orbis group left behind for us.” “How many have you found?” “Enough.” His grin pulls slightly wider. “How many are actually out there? Ask Adrian.” I almost smile. That sounds about right. I know the Orbis sites we’ve already opened and the ones Adrian has directed us toward. Cassian knows his. None of us knows how many more Adrian prepared. He keeps that information locked down until he feels we need to know about it.

He lowers the page. For a moment, I think he’s finished. Then he looks at it again.

Dimitri notices too. “Cassian,” he says with a glare.

Cassian ignores the warning. “The same stories came with them.”

Dimitri leans back with a quiet groan.

“Adults farther north,” Cassian continues. “Repairs. Medicine. Tools. The details are consistent with what we heard before.”

“Children repeat what comforts them,” Dimitri says. “Anyone like that outside Dominion would be dead.”

“They came from separate groups.”

“And stories travel.”

Kira props her chin against one hand. “I still don’t see the downside. If the stories are real, we find adults.” Her gaze drifts toward Cassian. “Maybe some worth bringing back to play with.” Her smile widens as the possibilities apparently multiply. “If you decide to look, I’ll come with you. Maybe you can keep me occupied along the way.”

Cassian’s mouth twitches. He knows Kira well enough not to expect anything else from her. Dimitri’s expression just tightens.

I put my pen down. “Can you two flirt after we finish? I’m trying to keep notes over here.”

Kira looks at me, with mock hurt. “I was making an offer.”

“Make it later.” Cassian laughs under his breath. Dimitri finds it far less amusing.

“Anyway…” Ronan leans forward. “Back to the adults.” He points to Cassian. “ Just send some scouts.”

Dimitri turns on him instead. “For what? Adrian already told us where the resources belong.”

Ronan shrugs. “We need northern surveys anyway.”

“That’s not why he wants to send them,” Dimitir says with his arms now crossed.

“Doesn’t matter. Send a couple scouts, update the maps, see what’s there.”

Cassian taps one finger against the table. “Routes in the north are outdated.”

Dimitri looks between them with annoyance. “Well that’s convenient.”

“Useful,” Ronan says.

“And if they happen to find these adults?” Kira asks.

Ronan shrugs. “Then Cassian gets his answer.”

Dimitri shakes his head. “Or we waste resources chasing another rumor when we have roads, planting, repairs, and settlements that actually exist.”

He isn’t wrong. Neither is Ronan. Adrian’s directives leave enough room to argue either way, which is probably why we’re still arguing.

“Anything else?” I ask Cassian.

He watches me for a second, then looks down at his report. “No.”

The meeting moves on through bridges, training, supply redistribution, and repairs. Normal problems. Useful problems. I keep writing while the conversation loosens again, arguments overlapping, Kira interjecting sly remarks whenever she finds an opening, apparently convinced everything has a sexual angle if the rest of us would only stop pretending otherwise. Ronan contributes only when he has something worth saying.

Cassian’s report stays with me throughout. Not the rumors, but Adrian’s reaction to them. Something changed when the reports went from one adult to several. I saw it, even if I still don’t know what it meant.

By the time I pull my attention back to the room, the reports have run out and the conversation has drifted into idle chatter. There’s nothing left worth adding to my notes.

I close my notes. “So we’re still on schedule? Nothing here changes our priorities?”

Dimitri shakes his head. “No.”

Cassian gives a distracted nod. “No changes.”

Ronan shakes his head.

Kira stretches in her chair. “Apparently I’m not allowed to go looking for more playthings, so no.”

Dimitri glances at her. “You weren’t going anyway.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Adrian said not to waste resources.”

Kira smiles. “I wouldn’t call it a waste.”

I add one last line to the page. “Then that’s what Mara gets.”

Chairs scrape back. Ronan stops beside me. “Dinner?”

“Still on.”

“Good.” He heads for the door.

Cassian doesn’t. He’s still standing over the table, one hand braced beside the map, staring at the northern routes.

Kira comes around behind him and hooks a finger into the back of his collar. “Come on.”

Cassian barely looks over. “In a minute.”

Kira gives his collar a tug. “Cassian, I’ve been sitting here all afternoon getting revved up, and I’ve behaved myself. Come help me stop.”

His attention returns to the map. Kira waits another second, then releases his collar with a sigh. “Your loss.”

Dimitri is nearly at the door when Kira catches up, hooks her arm through his, and turns him toward the corridor. “Come on. I’m still revved up, and apparently he’s no help.”

Dimitri glances back at Cassian. Cassian is already bent over the map again, his attention seemingly fixed on the old scout markings and northern roads of his sector. When Dimitri turns back, some of the irritation has left his face. “His loss.”

“Definitely.” Kira pulls him through the doorway. “Your gain.” The doors close behind them.

I gather my papers without saying anything. Adrian’s directives are clear enough, and when I asked if anything was changing, Cassian’s answer was no.

But his eyes are still on the north. I consider asking more questions, then think better of it. I tuck the notes beneath my arm and leave Cassian with the map.

---

By the time I finish for the day, night has settled damp and cool over the compound.

I return to my quarters long enough to shower and change into a softer uniform jacket, then follow the path past the mess toward the southern housing ring. Fires burn low in the courtyards. A few soldiers talk near the steps until they notice me and straighten. I return their salute and keep walking.

Warm light spills from Ronan’s second-floor balcony above. Music drifts through the partly open door, low and old enough that most of the people here probably wouldn’t recognize it. I smell dinner long before I reach his suite.

I step inside to find Ronan standing over the small range with his sleeves rolled, stirring a pot. “You never stop.”

He glances over his shoulder. “If I leave dinner to the officers, we get what they call pasta three times a week.”

“At least it fills them.”

“So would boiled rope.”

I look toward the neat line of spice jars over his counter. “Maybe they don’t have your private stockpile.”

“Some are learning.”

“I’ve heard they trade spices to stay on your good side.”

“They know what matters.” He nods toward the bottle waiting on the table. “Bottle’s ready to be opened.”

The label is simple, nothing that would catch much attention. With Ronan, that usually means there’s something much better hiding inside. I pour myself a glass and take a sip. “You and Adrian still have the best taste around here.”

“We got to the cellars first.”

I glance at the bottle. “Kira could’ve gotten there first and walked right past this.”

Ronan scoffs. “She drinks anything that burns.”

“Fair,” I say with a laugh. “She wants to feel it. Can’t entirely blame her anymore.” Ronan gives me a look as he reaches for one of the spice jars. “A couple drinks don’t do much these days,” I add.

“If getting drunk is all she wants from it, she’s doing it wrong.”

I smile into my glass. Ronan has opinions about alcohol that have very little to do with that.

The wine is good, better than anything has a right to be. I lean against the table while Ronan finishes dinner. The music fills the spaces between us without forcing conversation into them. My mind starts to wander as I drink more to the music.

“You’re somewhere else,” he says.

“I’m standing in your kitchen.”

“Not what I meant.”

I trace one finger along the rim of my glass. He waits. “It’s Cassian’s report.”

“The adults.”

“Not exactly.” His attention settles on me. I hesitate, turning the glass once between my fingers before I continue. “I asked Adrian about it once, before Cassian mentioned the stories in council.”

Ronan sets the ladle down. “You asked him?”

“About adult survivors. He barely reacted until I made it clear I meant more than one.” I can still see the moment if I let myself: the slight pause, small enough that I might have missed it in anyone else. “Then he dismissed it. Said they couldn’t have survived.”

“And that bothers you.”

“Apparently.”

“Why?”

I trace the rim of my glass again. That is the part I keep coming back to, because I should have an answer by now. “I don’t know.” Ronan waits. He’s good at that when he wants to be. “He wasn’t concerned at first. Then we mentioned several adults and he paused. After that, he shut the whole thing down.” I shake my head. “And the problem is, every reason he gave us makes sense. We have more important things to worry about.”

“But?”

“But something about it still feels wrong.” I look down at my glass. “I’ve spent enough years making decisions on incomplete information to know when something is bothering me for a reason. Usually I can figure out what that reason is.”

“And this time?”

”Nothing.”

The pot begins to simmer harder behind him. Ronan turns the heat down, giving me a few seconds without his eyes on me. “Maybe you’re trying too hard to explain it.”

“That sounds dangerously close to advice.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

I almost smile. “I trust Adrian. I’ve watched him make decisions for years. I know what his judgment has built.”

Ronan leans one hip against the counter. “But it still bothers you.”

“Yes.”

“You think Cassian should check.”

“I think Cassian should follow orders.”

“Not what I asked.”

I look at him. Ronan doesn’t press, which somehow makes the question worse. “That’s the problem.”

The pot starts bubbling again, saving me from having to say anything else. Ronan turns back to it and ladles stew onto two plates. “You still trust Adrian.”

“I have to.” The answer comes immediately. “Dominion only works if command means something. We don’t get to rebuild civilization by treating every order as optional because we dislike it.”

“No.”

I frown into my glass. Ronan glances over. “Still doesn’t answer the question.”

“You’re not helping.”

“Wasn’t trying to.” That earns a small laugh despite myself. Ronan tears the flatbread in half, adds a piece to each plate, and slides mine across the table. “Eat.”

The stew smells of pepper and smoke. I tear off a corner of the bread, drag it through the broth, and take a bite. Ronan pretends to busy himself with his own plate, but I catch him watching me.

“Well?”

I make him wait while I chew. “Better.”

His eyebrows lift. “Than?”

“Last time.”

He leans back, one hand settling against his chest in exaggerated offense. I take another bite. “Marginally.”

“You wound me.”

“You’ll recover.” That gets a smile out of him, shaking his head as he finally starts on his own dinner.

Dinner drifts into ordinary things: training rotations, a shipment that arrived with half its inventory mislabeled, one of Ronan’s officers discovering that dried herbs are not interchangeable simply because they come in similar jars. A second wine bottle opened as we finish the first. A second helping of the stew.

For a while, nothing needs solving. We complain about work instead of doing it.

Afterward, Ronan clears the plates and opens a small bottle of ice wine. We take it onto the balcony, where the compound stretches below us in pools of light and mist. Voices carry from somewhere near the barracks, and somewhere below, a pump cycles on before fading back into the compound’s electrical hum.

Ronan pours two narrow glasses. The ice wine is stronger than what we had with dinner, sweet enough to hide most of it. Warmth has settled comfortably through me despite the cool air moving across the balcony.

“You ever think about after?” he asks.

“After what?”

“This.”

I glance at him. “You think rebuilding ends?”

“Changes.” He rests his forearms against the rail, looking over the roofs below. “Might have to rebuild half the world before that happens.”

“Probably.”

“Won’t see all of it.”

Maybe not.

The thought catches somewhere it normally wouldn’t. I turn the glass between my fingers, watching the ice wine cling to the sides. “Do you feel older?”

Ronan looks over. “That what we’re talking about now?”

It takes me a second to realize how far I jumped. “Apparently.” He gives me a sideways look. “I’m serious.” I settle back against the railing. “Since the cure. Do you actually feel older?”

He considers it. “Not particularly.”

“Neither do I.” I take another sip. “I don’t tire the way I used to. Things that should take weeks to heal take days. It’s been years, Ronan.” He looks out over the compound again. “Maybe we see more of it than you think,” I say.

“That’s comforting.”

My eyes drift to his shaved head, and I smile. “It did fix your hair.”

His is hand goes automatically to his scalp. “One thing I didn’t ask it to fix.”

“Most men would be grateful.”

“I’d already made peace with it.”

I take another sip. “Apparently the cure hadn’t.” He gives me a flat look over the rim of his glass. I laugh. “You could always grow it out.”

He shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Might look good.”

“Now I know the wine’s getting to you.”

I turn the glass between my fingers. “Barely.” I smile. “But I’m enjoying what little of it I can get.” Ronan chuckles, but my attention stays on the glass.

“Yea. Tolerance for this stuff definitely went up.” He rubs a palm over his head, smiling faintly. “Not just that, though. Dimitri lost the glasses. Old scars disappeared.”

“Mine too.”

Ronan nods and takes another drink. He stays quiet long enough that I think the thought has passed, then asks, “You knew Adrian before all this.”

“Long before,” taking another sip.

“His grandfather too?”

“Not personally. I’ve seen pictures.” I turn toward him. “Adrian was already in charge when he recruited me. Why?”

He takes his time with the wine. “Always thought they looked a lot alike.”

“They were family.”

“Yea.”

He leaves it there, which means he hasn’t. I wait for him to continue. He doesn’t. “What?”

“Nothing.” He glances at me. “You knew Adrian longer. Thought maybe you’d noticed it too.”

I think back to the photographs I’ve seen around the Orbis over the years. The resemblance never struck me as strange. Same eyes. Same jaw. His grandfather looked older, of course. They were family. Gray worked through his hair, glasses, older clothes.

Except Ronan has just reminded me how many of those things the cure can change.

I look at him again. “What exactly are you asking?”

Ronan lifts one shoulder. “Not sure yet.”

Of course he isn’t.

But now the thought is there.

Pretending to be your own grandson makes no sense. There are easier ways to explain looking younger, assuming the cure could even do that. Then again, I never knew Adrian before the cure. I only know the man who came after his grandfather, and when I picture the Adrian who recruited me beside the one leading Dominion now, more than a decade separates them without much to show for it.

“He hasn’t changed much,” I say.

“Since when?”

“Since I met him.”

Ronan turns slightly toward me. “How long?”

“More than ten years.”

He considers that without saying anything. “You started this,” I tell him.

“Asked a question,” he said with a small smile. “That’s all.”

“You’re very good at that.”

“Kept me alive in Boston.” He says it as he shifts closer against the railing, close enough that our shoulders nearly touch.

I shake my head and take another drink. For a while, neither of us says anything. The compound hums below us, lights burning through the mist.

My hand rests on the rail beside his. When I shift, our fingers brush. Neither of us moves. The contact is small, easy to end, but I don’t.

Attachment has never frightened me because it makes people soft. That’s too simple. It gives the world another place to put a knife, another obligation that can pull against the ones you already carry.

Ronan’s hand remains where it is. So does mine.

Eventually he lifts his glass and finishes the last of the wine. “You should let me walk you back.”

A small laugh escapes me. “No one here would dare.”

“Wasn’t worried about them.”

I look at him. He doesn’t explain. “Thank you. I’m fine.” He nods and gathers the glasses. I follow him inside, the warmth of the suite hitting me after the cool balcony air. At the door, I pause.

For a second, neither of us says anything. The pause lasts just long enough for me to notice it. Eventually, Ronan breaks the silence.

“Good night, Rhea.”

“Good night.”

I step into the hall, and his door closes softly behind me.

Outside, the compound has gone quiet. Fires burn low beneath the arches, and mist drifts across the main walk. I’m halfway to my division wing before I look back.

My eyes find his balcony before I quite know why. The light is still on behind it.

I turn forward and keep walking.

---

The next morning, I’m out for my run before the compound has properly started its day.

The sky beyond the eastern wall has only begun to pale, more gray than morning, and most of the buildings are still dark. Even the offices won’t start waking for a while. Cold air clears the last of sleep as I follow the inner wall, concrete damp beneath my boots and mist hanging low across the yards. At this hour, there should be little more than the night watch waiting for relief.

Which is why the light near the storage buildings catches my attention.

I slow as I round the corner. One of the larger equipment sheds stands open, light spilling in a narrow strip across the yard. Voices carry from inside, kept low enough that I can’t make out the words. Not a work crew.

I change direction.

Cassian sees me first. He stands beside Commander Toby near two rugged electric bikes, both loaded heavily enough that whatever they’re preparing for won’t end today. One is fitted with a sidecar, its rear rack packed beneath a weather cover. More gear is secured to the second bike behind the seat. Folded charging panels are strapped alongside bedrolls and field packs, with survey cases and a secured long-range radio packed among them.

A captain and lieutenant are making the last checks while a younger cadet tightens one of the cargo straps. All three straighten when I enter. Toby gives me a respectful nod. Cassian looks considerably less surprised than the others.

“Up early, General.”

“I could say the same.” I walk farther into the shed, taking in the equipment. The bikes are already charged, packs loaded, everything positioned to roll straight through the gate. “Survey?”

“North.”

My eyes settle on the radio case before moving back to the rest of the gear. “Planning to cover a lot of ground?”

“The maps get worse the farther north you go.”

“Most of those came from your advance scouts last year.”

“Exactly. A lot can change in a year.”

Especially this year. I look over the equipment again, then back at Cassian. He doesn’t bother pretending this is only about maps. “You’re looking for them.”

“I’m updating my maps.”

“Cassian.”

A beat passes before he gives me the rest. “If they’re there, I’d rather know.”

The captain and lieutenant have become intensely interested in their equipment. The cadet is still holding the same strap he finished tightening before I walked in, apparently afraid to move.

I look back at Cassian. “Adrian was fairly clear about where he wants our resources.”

“He wants us expanding useful territory instead of chasing rumors.”

“And this isn’t chasing rumors?”

“We need new maps.” Cassian gestures toward the survey cases. “Those scouts went through when everything was still falling apart. What they recorded was useful then. It doesn’t tell me what’s there now.”

“That’s convenient.”

“It’s also true.”

Unfortunately, it is. Cassian’s northern sector will have to be surveyed again eventually. Everyone’s will. The first maps were never meant to last. Ronan’s argument from yesterday comes back to me. We need maps anyway. Apparently Cassian listened.

I glance toward Toby. “You’re comfortable sending three this far out?”

He answers without looking to Cassian first. “I picked them. Captain’s handled extended reconnaissance before. Lieutenant knows the survey equipment and radio. Cadet’s been training under both of them since winter.”

The captain gives the smallest acknowledgment but wisely keeps his mouth shut.

“And if you lose contact?”

“We have scheduled windows,” Toby says. “They miss one, we wait for the next. They miss two, I start looking.”

Cassian folds his arms. “No one’s disappearing into the mountains without us noticing.”

I look between them. “And if there’s nothing there?”

“Then there was nothing to find,” Cassian says, “and we get our northern maps a little earlier than expected.”

“And if there is?”

His expression settles. “Then we have a different problem.”

“Not just a northern one.”

“No.” Cassian holds my gaze. “Not just a northern one.”

Toby speaks from beside him. “They’ve been briefed. No contact unless they have no other choice. Not that I’d accept them getting caught in the first place. If they find anything, word comes straight back.”

There’s enough confidence in his answer that I believe him. Toby has always been careful with his people, and Cassian wouldn’t send a cadet this far north with officers he didn’t trust.

That doesn’t make any of this authorized. I could make it a problem. Cassian and I could stand here until the rest of the compound wakes, arguing over whether updating year-old maps justifies ignoring the intent of Adrian’s instructions. I could force the issue high enough that nobody leaves until Elias hears about it. The thought sits there for a moment.

Cassian commands the north. These are his people, operating in territory we already agreed would eventually fall under him. He doesn’t need my permission to send them anywhere. He also knows exactly why Adrian doesn’t want us spending resources on this. So do I.

“Adrian won’t like it.”

“No.”

“You’re doing it anyway.”

Cassian meets my eyes. “I’m just updating my maps.”

Behind him, the captain lowers his head, either checking something on the bike or hiding his expression. I decide not to find out which.

I should be annoyed. I am annoyed. Just not enough.

I look over the team one more time. “If they find something, it comes back here. Adults change this. That isn’t something you handle on your own.”

Cassian’s expression loses what little humor remained. “I know.”

Toby gives a single nod. “So do they.”

That is as much reassurance as I’m going to get, and probably more than I have any right to demand from another general’s commander.

I turn toward the open shed door. The mist outside has begun to thin, the sky a little lighter than when I arrived. It won’t be long before the morning patrol changes and people start moving through the yards. Cassian chose his timing well.

I take two steps before stopping. My mind made up for now. “Just as a curious note.” No one says anything behind me.

I glance back at Cassian. “I’ve heard a few of those northern stories too. Nothing worth putting in a report of course.” He waits, so I continue. “Most of what reaches me is old by the time I hear it. Kids repeating something somebody else saw, or something somebody else heard. But lately, when something does sound less ridiculous, it seems to be coming down from farther northeast. Pennsylvania side of the river.”

The corner of Cassian’s mouth shifts. I give him a look, and he has enough sense to leave it there.

“Not that I’d put much weight on rumors,” I add.

“Of course not.”

“And if I happened to be updating maps that far north, I’d probably spend more time east than west.”

Cassian glances once toward Toby, then back to me. “Reasonable survey plan.”

“Thought so.”

For a moment neither of us says anything. There’s nothing else to say that wouldn’t turn this into a conversation we’re both pretending we aren’t having.

I step outside. Behind me, the shed comes quietly back to life. Packs shift, a buckle snaps closed, and one of the bikes rolls across the concrete with little more than the sound of its tires. By the time I reach the edge of the yard, the team is moving toward the gate: the captain on the single bike with cargo packed behind him, the lieutenant driving the second with the cadet in the sidecar. Toby walks beside them for the first few yards while Cassian remains near the shed.

The electric motors barely disturb the morning. I stop and watch. I could still take this to Elias. One conversation would put Cassian’s survey where he clearly doesn’t want it.

I don’t move.

The gate opens, and the two bikes slip through into the gray beyond the walls. In another few minutes, the compound will wake and their departure will be nothing more than another entry in a movement log.

Cassian would have sent them whether I found him or not. All I did was give him a better idea where to look so they wouldn’t waste resources.

I’d been listening despite myself, holding on to scraps that weren’t mine to pursue because Adrian’s reaction still bothered me. It isn’t my sector, and until a few minutes ago, listening was all I had done. Now three people are carrying what I heard north with them.

The gate closes. Somewhere behind me, a door opens, then another. The first morning voices carry across the yard as the compound begins stirring for the day.

Dominion wakes around me exactly as it should.

I start running again.