Chapter 25 - Watchers in the Quiet
The morning sun spilled through the tall windows of Caelan Thorne’s office, catching on the edges of brass fixtures and freshly inked parchment. Everything was in its place. The maps were pressed flat and pinned cleanly to the walls. A shelf of regulation codices stood in perfect order. Even the delicate ceramic pot of dark-leaf tea had been set just slightly to the left of his favoured hand.
Still, Caelan’s brow was furrowed as he read the latest report. The paper was slim, unassuming. Folded twice, sealed with the faint blue wax used for internal city alerts. Patrol informant, outer wards. Possible cult presence. He read it again.
“Two individuals. Hooded. Identifiable only by uniformity in attire. Observed near an abandoned guild gate on Hollingrow Lane. No insignia. No known affiliation. Disappeared before patrol could approach. Same profile as the festival attackers.”
He was still holding the paper when the knock came.
"Come in."
The door opened with a gentle click, and Devon stepped inside with the ease of someone who had long been granted unofficial clearance. "I come bearing bribes," Devon said, lifting a neat little box wrapped in pale string. "Almond tea cakes. And I need a signature on the distribution proposal for the municipal library event. Don’t worry, it’s all very boring."
Caelan didn’t look up from the report.
"Is it ever?"
"No," Devon admitted with a smile, setting the box down. "But I do like to maintain the illusion."
Caelan handed the paper across the desk. "Read this."
Devon tilted his head slightly, accepting the page without question. As his eyes moved over the report, his expression grew more serious. The playfulness slipped from his voice like steam from a cooling cup. "This makes twice now," he said quietly. "Same type. Same method. No trace left behind."
Caelan leaned back in his chair. The morning felt heavier than it had moments ago.
"We’re short-staffed already," he muttered. "The guild’s been busy with border assignments and high-priority escorts. Everyone’s stretched. If this is escalating, I need proof before I can justify pulling more eyes off the standard rotations."
Devon tapped the edge of the paper. "I’ve been getting oddities in the arcane fields around the city too. Unreadable echoes. Divination spells scattering mid-cast, even within strong circles. It’s subtle, but it’s increasing."
Caelan's gaze sharpened. "And you didn’t lead with that?"
"I didn’t want to sound paranoid," Devon replied dryly. "But if this group is using magic to hide their movements, or worse, disrupt ours, then it’s no longer theoretical."
Caelan folded his arms. "You think it’s coordinated?"
"I think it’s practiced. Which is worse."
Before Caelan could respond, another knock sounded at the door. This one was followed by a familiar voice. "Commander?"
"Come in."
The door opened again, and Gideon stepped inside, freshly uniformed but walking with the cautious rhythm of someone still adjusting to movement.
Caelan nodded once. "Cleared for duty?"
"Light duties only," Gideon replied. "No assignments yet. Thought I’d check in."
He paused, noticing Devon and the way both men looked unusually sombre.
"Did something happen?"
Caelan gestured for him to sit, then passed the same report across the desk. Gideon read it quickly. His jaw tightened. "That sounds a lot like the two I saw the other night."
Both Caelan and Devon turned toward him.
"You saw them?" Caelan asked.
Gideon nodded. "On my way home from Neia’s. A pair of figures in matching hoods, near a gated alley. I called out, they ran. Didn’t get a good look. But the way they moved, it wasn’t random. They were waiting for something."
Caelan’s voice lowered. "Why didn’t you report it?"
"I thought maybe it was nothing. Kids, thieves, pickpockets. I wasn’t exactly in top shape."
Devon looked down at the report again. "Then it’s confirmed. Same pattern. Same behaviour."
"And still no emblem," Caelan murmured. "Which means they’re either hiding their allegiance… or they don’t want one known at all."
The room fell quiet for a beat.
Devon straightened. "I’ll check my records. See if anything matches their tactics. Maybe even older cult incidents. There’s precedent for decentralized cells using matching garb to avoid being traced."
Caelan gave a slow nod. "Do it. And if you feel anything strange in the arcane fields again, I want to know immediately."
Gideon sat forward slightly. "You think this is connected to the festival?"
"I think," Caelan said quietly, "that we were lucky that night. And I don’t trust luck."
He turned toward the map pinned beside his desk, fingers brushing the outskirts of the outer ward with idle precision. "I’ll request additional surveillance near Hollingrow Lane and the abandoned gates. Quietly. I don’t want panic spreading through the guild or the city unless we have something solid. But in the meantime—"
His eyes moved back to them both.
"Be ready."
There was a pause. Then Devon leaned a little closer toward Gideon, his tone suddenly lighter. "Wait, did you say you were coming back from Neia’s?"
Caelan raised an eyebrow, almost imperceptibly. "I thought she lived near the edge of the Community Ward."
Gideon blinked. Realized. Then turned a slow, mortified shade of red. "...I was walking her home," he said stiffly.
Devon smiled far too brightly. "Oh, of course you were."
Caelan didn’t smile. But he did look a little more amused than he had all morning.
"Mm. Carry on."
The bells above the door gave a soft chime, delicate enough to vanish into the café’s hush. The hour was late, and Inkwyrm had settled into its final rhythm. Lamplight low, shelves undisturbed, and steam curling gently from a forgotten teacup behind the counter. Devon glanced up from his ledger.
"Alena."
His voice was calm, but the edges of it softened at the sight of her. She stepped inside, brushing a bit of wind from her coat and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Hope it’s not too late."
"You’re fine," he said, already setting aside his pen. "I was just thinking the place could use better company."
Her eyes flicked toward him, skeptical.
Devon offered a faint smile. "And no, that wasn’t a line. Just a fact."
She moved to the counter as she always did. Her satchel gave the slightest thunk as she placed it down and retrieved a scroll case from inside. "Finished that urgent commission from Morgrave," she said. "They sent a mess of ancient dialects and expected a translation overnight."
Devon tilted his head, taking the scroll without opening it yet. "And did they at least say thank you, or just threaten you with deadlines again?"
"Both," she said.
He made a low sound of amusement and turned to retrieve her usual tea without asking. The cup he selected was glazed in muted green, its rim worn from use. She noticed he always used the same one for her. "This has been steeping just long enough," he said, sliding it toward her. "Assuming you’re still the same person who glares at anything too floral."
Alena accepted the cup and held it close to her face for a moment.
"You always remember."
"I try," he answers, with that boyish smile on his face.
They stood in silence for a moment as she sipped. The warmth seeped into her hands first, then her chest. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable. Devon moved fluidly behind the counter, folding cloth napkins with a kind of idle elegance. The only sound was the soft clink of ceramic and the distant crackle of the enchanted hearth in the corner.
"You don’t have to stay open this late," she said quietly. "Not for me."
"You think I’m staying open for you?"
Her eyes lifted in surprise, and she looked down at the mug, slightly embarrassed.
Devon gave a soft laugh. "I mean, I am. But also because I get more done when the city is quiet. No rush. No noise. And I work faster when no one’s trying to flirt with me while asking for ‘something mysterious.’"
Her brow twitched slightly. "...That actually happens?"
"All the time," he said with a sigh. "Last week someone told me I looked like a failed book thief and asked if I had any poetry with blood in it."
Alena blinked. "Did you?"
"Of course. This is still a respectable establishment."
She let out a short, quiet laugh. Devon didn’t look over, but he did smile at the sound of it.
"You should laugh more often," he said, casually.
Alena didn’t respond. She just took another sip, then let her gaze drift toward the window. The evening had cleared, revealing a wide stretch of sky between buildings. Devon followed her line of sight. "Clear night," he murmured. "Y’know, there’s a good view from upstairs if you want to do some stargazing."
She turned slightly. "...Now?"
"In a bit. Once I’m done here." He reached for the empty tea tin beside him and began closing it with quiet care. "No pressure. Just thought you might want a moment to breathe. Away from all the translating."
Her expression didn’t shift much, but the silence that followed was different now. Less guarded.
"You’ve been working hard lately," he added. "You deserve something that’s just for you."
Alena looked back down at her tea. The warmth lingered against her palms, but her thoughts had drifted.
"...Alright then," she said, almost too quietly. "Just for a little while."
Devon nodded, slow and easy, with a gentle smile on his face. "Of course."