The coded mark arrived just after midnight. A single charcoal stroke on the underside of a loose roof tile at the outer watch post, the kind of signal the temple's long-term contacts used when ordinary channels had gone quiet.
The older trader, Harren, had not missed a scheduled report in nine years. One day of silence was unusual. The mark made it urgent.
Aiden read the mark by the light of a shaded lantern, then folded the tile fragment into his coat. He found Kaelara in the armory checking the edge on a short blade. Two of the night-shift guards, Renn and Vos, stood nearby already geared for the road.
"Harren's been approached," Aiden said. "Northern speech, pressure. We pull him tonight before they decide he knows too much."
Kaelara nodded once. "Isolated way-house on the north spur. Half a day's walk if we keep off the main track."
"We go light. No banners, no temple colors. If anyone's watching, they see four travelers, nothing more."
