The stairwell throbs with violet light. Steven keeps Guard Two crushed to the wall, while BonerFart’s arrow never wavers. Below, the ledger lies open on the wet steps, its pages splayed like a confession.
Guard Two
Wait. I can name him. The one who paid for the route map, the one who wanted you here divided.
Joe and Garrick close in from behind, cutting off the stairs. Merrin’s face hardens as she studies the ledger’s marks, the same seal pattern repeated beside several forged names.
Merrin
This is Barack’s hand. Not only the lies, the routing too. He is setting camps against each other, then watching who survives.
BonerFart
Speak. Who gave the map?
Guard Two
A clerk in dark sleeves. He said the elder wanted peace. He said the trail would make the right men hunt the wrong men.
At the word clerk, Edrin Vale stiffens near the wall. The violet pulse catches on the open ledger, on the guard’s fear, on BonerFart’s drawn bow, and the shape of the trap becomes plain, Barack is not merely hiding, he is steering every feud toward himself.
Get the guard to name the clerk