The morning came grey and cold, and Lysander was not there.
Arsini went to the supply office at first light, as she always did, her tablet under her arm and a dozen tasks already arranged in her mind. The door was open. The lamp was cold. The tablets on the desk were exactly where Lysander had left them the night before—grain reports, patrol schedules, a half-finished note about the harbour defences. Everything was in its place.
Except him.
She stood in the doorway, a small knot of unease forming in her chest. It was not unusual for Lysander to be gone early—he often walked the walls at dawn, or stood on the tower counting ships. But he always left word. A note. A message with a servant. Something.
There was nothing.
She set her tablet down and went looking.
