Chapter 7 – Scars Beneath the Armor

A lantern’s glow spilled across the battered oak door of Cain’s private war tent. Sera Hudson paused in the hush of late evening, hand on the latch, breath shallow. Beyond lay maps and scrolls—his secrets. She’d come to steal an edge, but found herself hesitating. A soft murmur from within held her back.

She slipped inside on silent feet. The tent’s great wool drapes muffled distant drums of the Harvest Festival. Candles flickered on a low table: brass cups, a pot of spiced tea, and a small tray of sugared berries. Cain stood by the table, back to her, shoulders bare beneath a loose woolen cloak that fell open at the sides.

“Come in,” he said without turning. His voice was low, neutral—but not unkind.

Sera froze, heart pounding. “You… invited me?” she whispered.

He offered a linen cup. “I know you work through the night. Best not to exhaust yourself.”

She glanced at the tea, scented with cinnamon and juniper. He gestured to a wooden stool. “Sit.”