The letter burned a hole in my desk.
I had tucked it beneath false correspondence—a decoy letter addressed to a foreign diplomat—but I could still feel its presence, like a whisper in my ear. Each morning, I passed over it in silence, never daring to bring it up with Alexander.
He would be furious if he knew I was keeping this from him.
And yet, some instinct, sharper than reason, told me to wait.
Not because I doubted him. I didn't. Not anymore. We'd weathered too many storms, crossed too many boundaries to question the bond between us. But Alexander… he was fire and steel when wronged. The moment he saw the names—Hadrian, Elowen, Torric—he'd confront them directly. And I wasn't ready to make this public yet. Not when the ink was unsigned, the accusations still shadows.
I needed proof. Real, undeniable proof.
And I needed to find out who sent the letter.
So I began my own investigation.
Quietly.
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