The governor remained standing where he was, his expression fixed, his mind moving far faster than his body allowed him to show. The tension that had been carefully contained during the conversation began to shift, settling into something sharper, more restless.
He turned abruptly, pacing once across the room before stopping near his desk. His hand rested against the surface, fingers tapping lightly as he exhaled through his nose.
"Insufficient....I'll show you insufficient" he muttered under his breath.
The word lingered, sour and unwelcome.
He had managed nobles before. Managed pressure, expectations, interference disguised as assistance. But this was different. Seraphine Valcaryn hadn't come to negotiate. She had come to take control, and she had made that clear without ever raising her voice.
That alone was enough to complicate everything. His gaze shifted toward the documents stacked along the side of his desk. If he couldn't push back directly, then he would need leverage. And leverage required information.
He moved quickly then, pulling the relevant files forward, scanning through reports, statements, fragments of gathered intelligence that had been collected over the past few weeks. Most of it was incomplete, scattered, inconsistent.
Just like the man it was about.
"Sir Monroe," he said quietly, as if testing the name again.
The file itself was thin. According to the records, Monroe was an orphan. No known family, no recorded lineage, nothing tying him to any established house or faction. He had appeared in trade circles years ago, small transactions at first, then gradually building into something more substantial. Merchant routes, minor investments, calculated risks that had paid off just enough to grow without drawing attention.
Until recently. The transition into the mineral market had been sudden. The governor's eyes moved across the page again, slower this time, looking not for what was written, but for what wasn't.
There were gaps. Large ones. Years where activity should have been recorded but wasn't. Transactions that appeared without clear origin. Connections that ended abruptly without explanation.
His fingers tapped lightly against the desk again "Either he's very lucky," he murmured, "or very careful."
Neither option was comforting. He leaned back slightly, exhaling as he forced himself to step away from the thought. Suspicion without proof was a dangerous path, especially now. Acting on it without something solid to support it would only make his position weaker, not stronger.
And with Seraphine already moving to take control, he couldn't afford that.
He closed the file slowly, the motion deliberate. "For now," he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else.
The doubts didn't disappear. Stored away alongside everything else he would need to revisit later.
Because whether Sir Monroe was exactly what the records claimed or something far more complicated, one thing was already clear. This situation was no longer contained
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The room had barely settled when the air shifted again.
It wasn't obvious at first. No sound, no movement that could be pointed to directly, just a subtle disturbance in the stillness, like something had slipped into place where it didn't belong. The governor felt it before he saw it, his gaze snapping toward the far corner of the room where the light didn't quite reach.
They stepped out of the shadow as if they had always been there.
Lysira emerged first, her posture straight despite the faint stiffness she carried, her expression unreadable as she moved just far enough into the light to be seen. Vaelira followed a half-step behind, her presence looser, almost casual, though her eyes were already scanning the room with quiet intent.
The governor didn't greet them. He didn't waste time.
He grabbed the file from his desk—the one he had just closed—and flung it across the space without warning. It struck the floor near Lysira's feet, pages loosening slightly from the force.
"Find him," the governor said, his voice sharp with restrained anger. "And bring me his head."
The words hung in the air, heavy and direct. Neither of them moved immediately.
"Or don't come back," he added, the edge in his tone deepening.
Vaelira's brow lifted slightly at that, though she said nothing. Lysira bent down, picking up the file without urgency, flipping it open just enough to glance at the contents.
"Sir Monroe," she read quietly.
"Yes," the governor snapped. "Before that bitch Seraphine and her meat head… pet decide to interfere with what I've built here."
There was a flicker of something in his expression then—frustration, maybe even a hint of something sharper beneath it—but it vanished just as quickly.
"You've already failed once," he continued, his voice lowering but losing none of its intensity. "I won't tolerate it again."
Lysira closed the file. "We'll handle it," she said simply.
Vaelira glanced at her, then back at the governor, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "You really should work on your delivery," she added lightly. "All that anger, it's a bit much this early in the day."
The governor's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't respond.
Lysira stepped back toward the shadows, her grip on the file steady. Vaelira followed without another word, and just like that, they were gone again, the room returning to its previous stillness as if they had never been there.
They moved quickly once outside, the transition from stillness to motion seamless.
"You like him," Vaelira said after a moment, her tone casual.
Lysira didn't look at her. "No."
"You always say that about people who irritate you."
"He doesn't irritate me."
"He threw papers at us," Vaelira pointed out.
"That's not irritating," Lysira replied. "Lets just focus okay."
Vaelira let out a quiet laugh. "Fair."
They slowed as they reached the edge of the main road, blending easily into the flow of the town without drawing attention. Lysira opened the file again as they walked, her eyes moving quickly across the pages.
"Orphan," she murmured. "Merchant. Expanded into minerals recently."
Vaelira leaned slightly closer, glancing over her shoulder. "That's it?"
"There's more," Lysira said, flipping a page. "But none of it connects cleanly."
"Meaning it's either incomplete," Vaelira said, "or someone wanted it to look that way."
"Both," Lysira replied.
Vaelira hummed softly. "I like him more already."
Lysira ignored that, closing the file again. "We don't assume anything yet."
"We always assume something," Vaelira countered. "Otherwise we'd be guessing."
"We verify first," Lysira said.
Vaelira sighed lightly. "You're no fun when you get like this."
"You mean focused?"
"I mean boring."
Lysira almost smiled.
They moved through the town with purpose, gathering what they needed without drawing attention. It didn't take long. Word traveled easily in places like this, especially when it involved someone new, someone wealthy, someone noticeable.
By the time they reached the outskirts of the storage area, the sun had already begun its slow descent, casting long shadows between the buildings. The warehouse itself stood larger than most around it, reinforced, maintained, clearly in regular use.
They didn't approach directly.
Instead, they circled once, taking in the layout, the entry points, the movement of workers going in and out with steady rhythm.
They found a vantage point along a higher structure nearby, settling into the shadowed edge where they could observe without being seen. It didn't take long before he appeared.
Sir Monroe or Daruis if you prefer.