Ryker returned from the Royal Spire just before 0200 hours, still accompanied by Emrys's silent, watchful guards. The Queen's direct order, his new commission, and the threat of treason felt like a physical weight on his shoulders. He was now running a covert operation for the Crown within the Citadel, and his first task was to placate the very man he had betrayed.
The False Confession.
He found General Thax in his own command center, reviewing surveillance reports, a mug of steaming black brew at his elbow. He was still up this early.Thax looked up, his face etched with exhaustion and simmering rage from the night's failed interrogation.
"Thorne," Thax grunted, his voice a low growl. "Where the hell have you been? The Elders are demanding an update. That miserable little wolf refused to crack. I swear she enjoys the pain. I heard you took her. But never mind, I just ordered her to be moved to the Black Site by dawn—we'll see if she likes the Silent Room."
Ryker stepped forward, his posture sharp and conveying exhaustion, but also the grim satisfaction of a soldier who had finally secured a victory. He made sure the two Royal Guards waited just outside the door, visible enough to give his presence weight, but not so close as to seem like an escort.
"General," Ryker said, injecting a weary resignation into his voice. "The prisoner finally broke. But it was only after the physician administered the standard neural depressants to keep her alive that she became compliant. It's a low-value confession, but it will satisfy the Elders for now."
Thax leaned forward, a flicker of wicked triumph replacing the rage. "Well? Out with it, man! What did the little beast say?"
"She was terrified, rambling," Ryker reported, spinning the narrative the Queen had requested. "She admitted she crossed the forbidden boundary near Sector Rho-9. She said she was fleeing a minor local dispute—a turf war between two small, disorganised shifting tribes over hunting grounds."
He delivered the key falsehood: "She claimed she was forced to participate, but stated she has no knowledge of any Dissident Faction or high-level plot. She knows no names, no routes, and no military secrets. She is, as we suspected, a desperate child being used by low-level bandits."
Thax slapped the table, his smile wide and brutal. "A low-value confession is better than none! It confirms the border breach and gives the Elders something to hang their hats on. Excellent work, Thorne. You have salvaged this mess."
"Thank you, General," Ryker said, letting out a heavy, visible sigh. "The physician confirmed her condition is now critical after the hours of stress. I have drafted an order to transfer her immediately to the Garrison Medical Containment Block—Block 4, designated for neurological observation. We need to stabilize her before she can endure further interrogation, lest we lose the only asset we have."
Ryker slid the forged transfer order across the table. It was signed with his Commander's seal, using the official military designation for the Garrison block, making it look legitimate, but entirely separate from the Black Site Thax intended to use.
Thax glanced at the paper, his attention already shifting back to his larger political problems. "Fine. Get the weakling stabilized. As long as she's contained, I don't care where she is. Keep me updated. If she remembers anything useful, you report directly to me."
"I will, General," Ryker promised, the lie tasting like dust.
Ryker executed a sharp salute and left the room, the transfer order safely signed. Thax was satisfied; the Elders would be appeased with the low-risk confession, and Ryker had secured the necessary paperwork to move Lyra to his secret location.
He immediately contacted Emrys and Captain Emrys's Guard Detail with a coded message: "The patient has been transferred from containment. Proceed with transport."
Ryker moved swiftly from Thax's command center to the East Wing. The Citadel felt eerily quiet in the pre-dawn hours, the polished corridors reflecting the ambient magic-lights like oil slicks. He arrived at the secluded sanctuary door to find the Captain and two silent figures waiting.
The two men were dressed in the plain, dark uniforms of the Royal Guard's internal security corps—Emrys's trusted detail. They were armed, armored, and possessed the professional, distant gaze of men who knew precisely what level of treason they were committing.
"The papers are signed," Ryker confirmed to the Captain, his voice low. "Thax is placated. The window of opportunity is narrow."
The Captain nodded grimly and pulled open the heavy door. Lyra was no longer on the treatment table. She was lying, still unconscious, inside a specialized conveyance: a sturdy, military-grade container designed to transport volatile magical components. The interior was lined with thick, dull gray metals interwoven with stabilizing runes—a last-minute defense devised by Rowland to contain any accidental flare of Lycan magic during the move.
"Her vitals are stable, but low," the healer reported, checking the seals on the container. "I gave her a strong sedative cocktail to keep the magical suppression field settled. But the field is fighting the sedative, trying to maintain her waking consciousness. She is stable, not safe."
One of the Royal Guards, a tall man with a scar near his eye, spoke up in a low voice. "We have the route mapped, Commander. It's the standard disposal path, only utilized this time of morning. Minimal sentry stations."
"No deviations," Ryker ordered. "If we are stopped, you are carrying contaminated medical waste that requires immediate, isolated destruction. Do not, under any circumstances, allow the container to be opened."
The Guards, following the Captain's instructions, carefully lifted the heavy container. It was silent and cold, the most dangerous package Ryker had ever escorted.
The journey through the Citadel was a nerve-wracking crawl. They avoided the brightly lit main thoroughfares, keeping to the shadowy service tunnels and maintenance access points. Every corner felt like an ambush, every distant chime of a security sentinel a potential alarm. Ryker walked point, his hand resting instinctively on the hilt of his sword, ready to sell the lie—or draw steel—if challenged.
Finally, they reached the lowest vehicle bay. A small, unmarked transport cart, designed for moving industrial materials, waited with its engine idling quietly. They quickly loaded the container into the back.
"Rowland," Ryker said, turning to the physician. "Your work here is done for now. Return to your quarters and remain invisible. If anyone asks about Lyra, you will confirm the transfer order was executed by my office."
The healer nodded and vanished back into the Citadel's depths.
Ryker took the wheel of the transport, the two Guards riding in the small cabin with him, their rifles resting across their laps.
The final stage—leaving the Citadel walls—was the most dangerous. They approached the fortified Perimeter Gate, where a single sentry was stationed.
Ryker lowered his window. "Duty Officer. Contaminated material disposal. Commander Thorne."
The sentry checked the manifest, his lamp casting a sickly yellow glow on Ryker's forged signature. He glanced at the covered, nondescript container in the back, its presence a mundane inconvenience in the middle of the night.
"Proceed, Commander," the sentry said, raising the barrier.
Ryker drove through the gate and onto the dark road, the Citadel's massive walls receding in his rearview mirror. The cold air outside was a relief. They were free.
The Isolation Block at the Garrison was an abandoned, heavily reinforced annex Ryker had secretly purchased months ago under layers of shell companies. It was ideal: structurally sound, completely off the official grid, and far enough from the city to prevent high-level magical bleed-through.
They secured the container in the main reinforced chamber. The Guards carefully eased Lyra out of the magical conveyance and onto a simple, clean cot, installing basic, non-magical restraints to ensure safety while she remained sedated.
"Your orders, Commander?" the lead Guard asked.
"Return to Emrys. Report that the asset is secured and contained, without incident," Ryker commanded. He looked down at the pale, bruised girl, the jagged scar across her cheek a visible sign of the ancient power beneath her skin. "And tell her I will stand watch. I won't leave her alone."
Ryker was alone with his treason, his secret, and the eleven-year-old Lycan who was now the center of his entire world.