The Threat

The convoy doesn't come back.

It's due by midday. Two carts, eight people, supplies from the southern farms. The kind of run we've done a dozen times. The kind that's become routine enough that I've stopped holding my breath until they're through the gate.

By three o'clock, Hugh sends a patrol.

By sunset, the patrol comes back. Three people short. One of the carts is burning somewhere past the tree line. The other is gone entirely.

I'm in the warehouse when Marcus walks in. His face says everything before he opens his mouth.

"How bad?"

"Three dead. Two wounded. The rest scattered into the forest." He drops a bloodstained pack on the table. "It wasn't MacLeod's usual style. This was organised. Hit the front, hit the rear, hit the flanks. Classic ambush. They knew exactly where we'd be."

Eleanor.

The name surfaces. The anger comes with it, cold and specific.

"How many attacked?"

"Hard to say. Fifteen, maybe twenty. Could have been more. The survivors said they moved like they'd trained together."

I pull out the map. Mark the ambush site. The pattern I've been tracking for weeks now has a new data point, and it confirms what I've been suspecting.

They're not probing anymore. They're committed.

---

The council meets that night. Same room. Same people. Different energy.

Hugh stands at the head of the table. No preamble. No soft opening.

"Three dead. The southern supply line is compromised. We've lost the convoy and everything on it. That's two weeks of food, medicine, and fuel we can't replace."

The silence is heavy.

"We can't sustain this," Ruth says. "Another two hits like that and we're rationing everything."

"We're already rationing everything," Sarah says. "People just don't know it yet."

Hugh lets it sit for a moment. Then: "The attacks aren't random. They're coordinated. Targeted. Someone is feeding them information about our routes, our timing, our defences."

He doesn't say Eleanor's name. He doesn't need to. Everyone in this room knows. Everyone in this room knows whose fault it is that the information is out there.

I don't look away. I don't make excuses. I let the weight sit where it belongs.

"What are our options?" Hugh asks.

"We fortify," Marcus says. "Pull back the outer patrols. Concentrate our people inside the walls. Make them come to us."

"We can't sustain that either," Ruth says. "We need the supply runs. We need the farmland. If we pull everyone inside, we starve slowly instead of dying quickly."

"There's a third option." Hugh says it quietly. He's been sitting on this one for a while. "We don't do this alone."

The room goes still.

"Other settlements are facing the same threat. Balloch, Drymen, Killin. All of them have been hit. All of them are stretched thin. None of them can stand alone." He looks around the table. "Neither can we."

"You want to ally with them." David's voice is flat. Cautious.

"I want to talk to them. Find out what they need. What we can offer. What they can offer us. The maths doesn't work for any of us alone. It might work together."

"And if they say no?"

"Then we're no worse off than we are now." Hugh folds his hands. "I've already made contact with Balloch through the radio. Their leader, a woman named Kirsten, is willing to meet. Here. Three days from now."

Three days. I do the calculation automatically. Time to prepare. Time to coordinate. Time to figure out what we can bring to the table that they can't get elsewhere.

"I'll handle logistics," I say.

Everyone looks at me. It's the first time I've spoken in a council meeting. The first time I've offered anything beyond observation.

Hugh nods. "Good. Work with Marcus. I want a full inventory of what we have, what we need, and what we can afford to share."

The meeting breaks up. People file out, talking in low voices. Marcus claps me on the shoulder as he passes. Not warm. Acknowledging.

I stay behind with Hugh.

"You're sure about this?" I ask. "Reaching out. Trusting other groups."

"I'm sure we can't survive alone. Trusting other groups is a risk. It's a smaller risk than waiting for the next ambush." He picks up the lamp. "Besides. You of all people should understand that the alternative to trust isn't safety. It's isolation."

He's right. I know he's right. The cabin taught me that.

I leave the council room. Walk through the corridors. The castle is quieter than usual. Word has spread. Three dead. People are scared.

I pass Zoe in the hall. She's carrying a medical kit toward the east wing. The wounded.

"Hey."

"Hey." She pauses. Takes in my expression. "Council?"

"Yeah. Hugh wants to reach out to other settlements. Form an alliance."

"Smart." She adjusts the kit on her shoulder. "We can't keep losing people like this."

"I know."

She nods once. Walks on. The distance between us is still there. Smaller than it was. Still there.

I go back to my room. Unfold the map. Start planning.

Three days. Three days to figure out what Mugdock has that other settlements need, and what they have that we don't. Three days to turn paranoia into strategy.

This is what you're good at. Routes. Timings. Numbers. This.

The map spreads out in front of me. Routes. Resources. Vulnerabilities. The patterns I've been tracking for weeks now have a purpose beyond observation.

For the first time since I put a knife to Hugh's throat, I feel useful. The feeling sits strange in my chest. Lighter than the rifle ever was.

I work until the candle burns down. Then I work by the grey light coming through the window.

Three days.