Fabian slammed the heavy iron ledger down onto the rough-hewn pine counter with a sharp crack that echoed across the quiet, dimly lit interior of the southern supply warehouse. The flickering oil lamp overhead hissed, casting long, jittery shadows against stacks of burlap sacks and tightly sealed wooden barrels."Fifty pounds," Fabian muttered, his voice tight with an unnatural, controlled fury as he traced a trembling, ink-stained finger down a freshly calculated column of figures. "Not five. Not ten. Exactly fifty pounds of salted pork and dried beef have vanished from our secondary reserves since the market bell rang yesterday morning."Evelyn stepped through the heavy warehouse door, pulling her woolen shawl tighter against the morning chill that seeped through the uninsulated logs. "Are you certain it wasn't a counting error, Fabian? You were up half the night tallying the trade exchange. Fatigue makes ghosts out of numbers.""Numbers don't lie, Evelyn, and hunger doesn't misplac

"You can point that ink-stained finger at the wall all day long, clerk, but it won't cook your missing pork," Kael drawled, leaning his shoulder casually against the splintered doorframe of the southern warehouse. He flicked a small wood splinter away with his thumb, his gaze drifting lazily over Fabian's trembling, furious face. "Maybe you ate it in your sleep. Desperation does strange things to bean-counters.""I don't sleep, and I certainly don't misplace three entire tubs of protein while keeping a ledger balanced to the exact ounce!" Fabian shot back, his voice cracking with righteous administrative indignation as he thrust the heavy book toward the scout. "Fifty pounds of high-grade salted meat didn't simply evaporate into the morning air. It was carried out by someone who knew the guard rotations and the exact weight distribution of our reserve stock!""Which points straight to the man who maps out guard rotations for fun," Miller growled, his massive frame blocking out the pal

"We don't need a formal court or a hanging tree to know what a confession smells like," Miller snarled, his heavy carpenter's mallet resting against his thigh like a crude executioner's club. He pointed a thick, calloused finger directly at the trembling refugee cowering against the rough stone corner of the warehouse. "The boy had Westminster brass buttons sewn right into the hem of his ragged tunic. He leaked our supply dates to Vance's patrol. That's not a misunderstanding. That's treason.""I was scared!" the young man sobbed, his voice cracking as he pulled his knees tight against his chest. "They caught my sister outside the ridge road two weeks ago. They said if I didn't tell them when the grain carts moved and where the reserve keys were kept, they’d burn her farm with her inside it! What else was I supposed to do?"Evelyn crossed her arms, her face a mask of cold, unyielding resolve. She looked down at the terrified youth, then swept her gaze across the angry circle of local

"Understood, Evelyn," Miller spat, finally jerking his heavy mallet up and resting it over his shoulder with a sharp glare at the cowering youth. "But if that boy so much as sneezes in the direction of the northern ridge while Vance's men are marching down it, I'm tying him to the front gate as a target dummy myself.""The boy goes to the root cellar under double lock right now," Fabian announced, snapping his ledger shut with a sharp crack that echoed across the crowded square. The administrator adjusted his spectacles, his pen tucked sharply behind his ear like a soldier's quill. "And as for Lieutenant Vance, my calculations suggest his patrol will reach the outer perimeter within twenty minutes. Marcus, your barricades had better be more than just decorative timber."Marcus didn't waste breath on a witty reply. He spun on his heel, his heavy boots kicking up dry dirt as he sprinted toward the northern gatehouse where the settlement's makeshift militia was already scrambling into po

"They’re through the siding!" Miller roared, his voice cracking with fury as the splintering crash of oak planks echoed across the eastern lane. He swung his heavy iron-shod mallet in a wide, vicious arc, catching the first Westminster raider squarely across the chest and sending him crashing backward into a stack of rough-hewn beams. "You want my timber, you bleed for it first!""Keep the line tight!" Marcus yelled, parrying a lunging bayonet with his notched saber before kicking his assailant's knee out from under him. He glanced over his shoulder, his heart skipping a beat as he saw Lieutenant Vance’s main force pouring past the gap like a swollen river of steel and dirty leather. "Miller, they're going to overrun the whole flank if you don't fall back to the secondary wall!""Fall back?" Miller snarled, spitting a mouthful of dust onto the blood-spattered dirt as he hoisted his mallet again. "This is my workshop! I built every damn roof in this settlement! I'm not giving them an i