The chamber was dim, thick with the heat of old war maps and fresher regrets. Rain tapped against the tall windows like impatient fingers. Commander Helda stood at attention, her ash-blond hair clinging to her temples, the burn on her left pauldron still smoldering. The air reeked faintly of plasma residue and failure.
Across the room, General Odo did not rise. He rarely did anymore. Age had gnarled his hands and stiffened his back, but his mind remained sharp—cold and calculating like the steel of the mountain bunkers back in Greenland.
Helda exhaled through her nose. "The assault on Ember Line failed. We were ambushed before we reached the outer ridge. They were waiting for us."
The silence that followed was heavier than any reprimand. The maps between them, once marked with promises and projections, were now bloodied with reality.
Odo tilted his head. "Like Otunba's march to the east wall."
She nodded once.
"Casualties?"
"Two platoons wiped clean. Eighteen wounded. Five taken alive." Her throat tightened. "One of them was Captain Renlo. He knew our communication protocols."
The old general's eyes darkened. "And Asa?"
"Nowhere near the field. As always. Just his flag, his voice on the open waves, taunting us. As if he knew every step we'd take before our boots left the sand."
General Odo rose slowly from his chair, as if the words forced him to stand. He stepped to the wide window and peered out over the garrison yard, where soldiers—Greenland-born and Forun-bred—trained side by side in the mud.
"They know too much," he muttered. "Too soon. Again and again. Ember Line wasn't a defeat, Helda. It was exposure."
She waited, posture rigid, fists clenched behind her back.
"There's a crack somewhere inside this fortress. One that speaks to Asa like a loyal hound."
"You believe there's a mole?"
"I don't believe, Commander. I know." His voice cut like a blade. "You will find them."
Helda frowned, but said nothing. She had suspected the same after the first failed maneuver. But the idea of treachery within her own ranks—her own walls—soured her more than battlefield loss.
"To aid you," Odo continued, his eyes still fixed on the yard, "my son is coming."
"Your son?" Her tone couldn't hide her surprise. "Tade Odo?"
"Yes." There was a hint of pride in the general's voice, tempered by necessity. "He's been trained in the deep operations unit in Greenland. Field and shadow. He'll serve as your blade in the dark."
Helda's jaw tightened. She had never worked with Tade, but she had heard of him. Brilliant, unflinching, and far too clever for comfort.
"You'll work with him," Odo said. "Find the leak, the traitor, the whisper in the wall. Until then, no more battle plans. No more offensives. Asa wins every time we move without certainty."
Helda stepped forward. "And if we find the mole?"
Odo turned from the window, his gaze like flint. "You make sure they never speak again."
There was no ceremony in her nod, just cold agreement.