I called him because he did not call me.

  That alone was enough to raise concern. Arclight Academy does not suppress violence involving thirty senior students, especially when one of those seniors is as connected as Lucien Veylan. The report I received had been scrubbed clean—too clean. Cause and effect were obscured, responsibility displaced until it rested nowhere at all.

  The upper administration at Arclight did not know who Cale was, so it couldn’t have been done for his protection. Then why? That much was obvious. That kind of erasure only happens when someone is afraid of what further attention might uncover.

  I sealed the line myself before opening the channel and pulled the contact sheet up inside my data interface. It was late; I had been planning on leaving him a message. I was surprised when he picked up after only a few toned alerts.

  The image resolved slowly.

  Lonivar Thane sat in his office at Arclight, the lights dimmed low, the ward lattice around the walls pulled tight enough that even the ambient hum of the Academy was muted. He looked tired in a way that went beyond long hours. He looked like a man who had been making calculations that all ended badly.

  “Headmaster,” I said. “You look like hell.”

  “Young Master Vanta,” he replied respectfully. “I think dealing with the devil would be an improvement. What do I owe such a late call?”

  “I just had some interesting—and likely completely fabricated—incident reports land on my desk,” I said. “If you wanted my attention, you could have simply called.”

  Headmaster Thane gave me a soft smile. “I couldn’t risk calling you through the usual channels. I scrubbed the reports pretty hard, hoping you might get the message. Because if I had, the wrong people would have started asking the right questions.”

  That statement hung in the air.

  “This connection is secure, Lonivar,” I said. “So please—what is going on?”

  Lonivar leaned back in his chair, fingers laced together.

  I narrowed my eyes. “And what questions are you trying to avoid?”

  “Why a first-week altercation escalated into a multi-core Expression event,” he said. “Why ward containment failed so cleanly. Why one student walked away untouched while thirty seniors required stabilization.”

  I watched him carefully. “You’re avoiding something.”

  “Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I’m avoiding attention.”

  “From whom?”

  “From everyone,” he replied. “Because Arclight is about to become the most politically sensitive location in the southern territories.”

  That was new.

  “Explain,” I said.

  Lonivar hesitated, and that alone told me this was not an academic problem.

  “There are three returning students this term,” he said carefully. “All of them high-profile. None of them announced.”

  I said nothing. Silence was cheaper than interruption.

  “The first is Kaereth Valmor,” Lonivar continued. “Son of Duke Valmor. One of the four Pillar Houses. You know the family.”

  I did. Everyone did.

  The Valmors—contemporaries to my own family—were old power, with vast holdings in land, contracts, and deep fingers in military logistics and mass procurement. They had the kind of quiet influence that never needed to raise its voice.

  And Kaereth… yes. I knew the boy.

  Lucien Veylan’s major character flaw was his obsession with dominance. Kaereth Valmor’s defect was different: consequences seemed to slide off him. He was brilliant, charming, and incapable of understanding where the edge actually was. A walking diplomatic incident wrapped in a smile—one that usually meant well.

  Most of the time.

  “And the others?” I asked.

  “Two princesses,” Lonivar said. “Second daughters, both of them. Neither in direct line of succession, which makes them perfect for political theater.”

  That phrasing set my teeth on edge.

  “They’re from neighboring minor crowns,” he went on. “The Kingdom of Lysara and the Crowned March of Threniel. Old trade partners. Older blood ties. The girls are cousins by marriage, raised together, educated together. Childhood friends.”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “And both coming to Arclight,” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “And both,” he added quietly, “entangled with Kaereth. Enough to make a Cinaflix story about it. It’s been on the gossip feeds for years.”

  That explained part of it—but not all of it.

  The son of a pillar duke with too much latitude and too little restraint. Two foreign princesses whose presence carried more political mass than any regiment. Arclight placed neatly between them as neutral ground—convenient and deniable.

  I frowned slightly.

  “Someone is trying to make a point,” I said.

  Lonivar did not deny it. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, eyes fixed somewhere past the wall.

  “Yes,” he said. “And not a subtle one.”

  I waited.

  “These are not idle threats,” he continued. “They are specific. The timing is not coincidence. This is a coordinated effort. Whoever is behind this understands protocol and consequence. If even one of those girls dies on Dominion soil, three alliances fracture overnight—and nobody sees how large the threat truly is, because neither girl is in the direct line.”

  A chill settled between my shoulders.

  “And you’re suppressing additional attention because of that,” I said. “Not because of the fight.”

  Lonivar’s mouth tightened. “The fight made it worse. It drew eyes where we needed none.”

  I studied him for a moment longer, then asked the question that had been circling since the call began.

  “If the pressure is this severe,” I said carefully, “why haven’t you requested garrison support? Or Crown security?”

  He did not answer immediately.

  When he did, his voice was quieter.

  “Because someone is already inside the system,” he said. “And I don’t know who.”

  That earned my full attention.

  “You’re certain?”

  “I am,” Lonivar replied. “Which is why I have not trusted this beyond my office. And why I am speaking to you only after you reached on a secure line.”

  I leaned back slowly. “Then tell me what you haven’t said yet.”

  He exhaled once, as if bracing himself.

  “My granddaughter,” he said. “Simantha. They took her.”

  The words landed hard, blunt enough that the room seemed to shrink around them.

  I didn’t interrupt.

  “Simantha is all I have left of my son” he went on. “She has never left the Academy grounds without an escort. Not once.” His jaw tightened. “They took her six nights ago.”

  “And they contacted you,” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “A single message,” Lonivar replied. “Delivered through a Technica channel using a delayed drop point. There was no signature, no traceable vector. Clean enough that I’m still not certain how they accessed it.”

  I waited.

  “They told me exactly what they wanted,” he said. “And exactly what would happen if I refused.”

  My stomach sank.

  “They want me to reduce security around Arclight,” he continued. “Not everywhere, so it doesn’t look like pure incompetence. They want enough small changes to build up. Mostly reassignments and delays. Enough to create gaps that look like routine administrative failure.”

  “And if you don’t comply?”

  “They kill her,” he said plainly. “But not before torturing her. And I die too. Not quietly. They were very specific about that.”

  I exhaled slowly.

  “They’re forcing you to open a corridor,” I said. “One that can’t be traced back to them.”

  “Yes,” Lonivar said. “They want the breach to look internal. I don’t know who they intend to drop the blame on, but they don’t strike me as the type to take credit.”

  “Seems like a lot of work to destabilize the agreements with the Kingdom of Lysara and the Crowned March of Threniel,” I said. “Allies, yes—but hardly critical to Vera.”

  “Especially second-in-line heirs,” he replied without hesitation. “I don’t know the endgame. I don’t know if they’re creating an incident or a distraction. It doesn’t matter. The children will die if these people get what they want. Probably me too. And Simantha.”

  I leaned back, the shape of it finally clear.

  “And you believe someone inside the provincial system is helping them.”

  “I do,” he said. “Because they knew things they shouldn’t have—schedules, response times, which wards matter and which ones only look impressive.”

  “Which is why you haven’t gone to the garrison,” I said.

  “Which is why I haven’t gone to anyone,” he replied. “I don’t know who’s compromised, and I can’t afford to guess.”

  Silence followed.

  “So why are you telling me this now?” I asked, already knowing the answer but wanting him to say it.

  Lonivar met my eyes.

  “Cale Arcanus,” he said. “I have a very specific need. I need someone who can act without leaving a trail anyone here knows how to follow.”

  He took a deep breath.

  “I need someone who can go in, get my granddaughter home safely, and get out without it coming back to me. I need… a ghost. The kind that invades dreams and destroys those who cross it.”

  The word hung between us, unspoken but understood.

  “And if he won’t help?” I asked.

  Lonivar’s voice was steady.

  “Then I lose my granddaughter and probably my life,” he said. “And we potentially get another war.”

  Silence stretched the kind that held the weight lives and outcomes.

  Finally, I said, “Then you need someone who can find the people responsible, get in, get Simantha, and get out without leaving an Expression trace.”

  Lonivar’s eyes lifted to mine.

  “You’re asking if Cale Arcanus will help you recover your granddaughter,” I said. “You’re asking if I will involve him.”

  “Yes,” Lonivar replied. He didn’t soften it. He didn’t need to.

  I leaned back, the stone cool against my shoulders, and stared at the ceiling for a long moment.

  “Lonivar,” I said carefully, “Cale won’t hesitate because it’s dangerous. And he won’t hesitate because it’s inconvenient.”

  “I know.”

  “He won’t hesitate at all,” I continued. “If a child is in danger, he’ll act. That part is not in question.”

  Lonivar’s hands tightened together, just slightly.

  “Then what is?” he asked.

  “What happens after,” I said. “Because once he commits, he doesn’t operate on borrowed authority or limits. He finishes things. Completely.”

  “I am not asking him to follow orders,” Lonivar said. “I am asking him to bring her home.”

  Silence settled between us.

  “How old is she?” I asked.

  “Ten.”

  That ended the debate.

  I exhaled slowly. “He will help.”

  Relief crossed Lonivar’s face so quickly he couldn’t hide it.

  “But understand this,” I added. “If Cale takes this on, it will not be quiet in the way you mean. It will be quiet in the way graves are quiet.”

  Lonivar did not look away. “I can live with that.”

  “You may have to,” I said.

  I straightened, already weighing how much of the truth to tell and how much to let Cale discover on his own.

  “You have three days,” Lonivar said. “After that, events will outrun all of us.”

  I nodded. “Three days is more than I expected.”

  I looked out across the city, already seeing the path narrowing.

  “So much for retirement,” I said.

  This time, when Lonivar answered, there was no calculation left in his voice.

  Only fear — and hope.