Blood on a Knife's Edge

WESLEY

I spotted him from across the clearing—young, eager, and dangerously foolish. His movements were too deliberate as he approached our camp, thinking himself stealthy when he was anything but. Amateur. The kind of liability that got people killed.

I signaled to my sentries to stand down and met the boy at the edge of our perimeter. Couldn't be more than nineteen, with that particular brand of cocky confidence that comes from never having faced real consequences.

"You're trespassing," I said, keeping my voice neutral.

The boy straightened his shoulders. "I want to join you."

"We're not accepting applications." I turned to walk away.

"Wait!" He moved to block my path. "I have information. And this."

He pulled something from his jacket—a silver ceremonial dagger with an ornate hilt. Pack insignia gleamed in the fading light.

Despite myself, I stilled. "Where did you get that?"