While the two southern fronts were locked in a stalemate, another war was brewing within the walls of Iron Hearth. It was a war that involved no tanks or cannons, yet it was every bit as lethal—a shadow war.
Roland Sudrath sat in his office when the crystal pager on his desk chimed. He picked it up, listening to a brief report from the voice on the other end. His eyes, usually calm and filled with a diplomatic smile, turned cold and sharp.
"There are spies in the city," he muttered to himself, setting the pager down slowly.
He stood up and walked to the window, gazing down at the streets of Iron Hearth, bustling as ever. Merchants hawked their wares. Factory workers walked home with weary faces. Children ran through the crowds. It was a city teeming with life. A city that was supposed to be safe.
But among those faces, there were those who didn't belong.
Roland pressed a button on his desk. A few minutes later, the door opened soundlessly.
