Disguise 96_The Matchmaker

CHAPTER 96 

 The final curve of Saphira’s diagram dried beneath her fingertip, ink glistening for a breath before settling into permanence. She leaned back, rolling her aching shoulder, letting the pen rest beside the edge of the table with a soft click. Her eyes scanned the paper–Silvermoon’s territory sprawled in deliberate.yers: dense forests, perimeter breaches, patrol rotations. Not wless. But close enough to give them a tactical edge. If they use this ground, we’ll be ready.

 Footsteps sounded outside the door–quick and uneven, like someone trying not to sprint. A momentter, the door creaked open, and Zafira and Anastasia stepped in, arms full of folded parchment and rolled documents clutched to their chests.

 Zafira held hers up like a trophy. “Maps. A lot of them. Some are ancient. Some… suspiciously coffee–stained.”

 Anastasia smirked as she crossed the room, setting her bundle beside Saphira’s drawing. “Buried behind the world’s worst history texts. Pretty sure one of them was literally about parchment ink drying techniques.”

 Saphira stood, mouth pulling into a grin despite herself. “This is perfect,” she said, fingers brushing across a brittle map corner. “We can chart routes, find ovep points. If we colour–code each territory, we’ll be able to spot border shifts mid–mission.”

 Zafira nodded, already loosening the twine around a rolled–up page. “We just need to clear the dead weight. I saw one for a pack that disbanded five years

 ago.”

 Anastasia spread out the intact sheets, weighing the corners with nearby pens and heavy paperweights. “These are the most stable ones. Pre–Elder disruption, pre–scatter.”

 Niks joined them, footsteps quiet, presence immediate. He reached for two markers from the supply tray, uncapping the red one firs territories go in red,” he said, calm and deliberate. “Matchmaker sites, ck.”

 1 pack

 Saphira handed him one of therger maps, her skin brushing his fingers lightly. He moved efficiently, posture straight, his focus grounding. Watching him chart the lines–with precision, not panic–anchored her own.

 She leaned over to adjust her Silvermoonyout, marking known patrol oveps while murmuringndmarks from memory. “They’ve reinforced the northern edges with hollow shifts,” she said. “Easier to hide behind if someone’s using them as cover.”

 Zafira tapped a shaded cluster. “Mistwood. Mostly mixed. They’ll be a target if this esctes.”

 Niks gave a quiet nod. “Add them to the vulnerable list.”

 Saphira jotted the name, eyes scanning a more rigid area. “Sundark?”

 “Traditional,” Niks said, voice clipped. “Old guard. Borderline elitist. They’ll be the first to lean Elder if pushed.”

 “Noted,” she said under her breath, writing with swift, sure strokes.

 They kept at it, the intensity softening just enough for murmured reflections.

 “I went to Mistwood once,” Zafira said, circling its region. “It was peaceful. Before everything fractured. Felt like a ce trying to stitch the species together.”

 Anastasia traced a line with a pale finger. “Sundark’s Alpha trained with my father,” she said, quiet. “Obsessed with reputation. Always polished, never kind.”

 Niks’s chuckle broke the moment. “They once hosted me. Spent more time listing my bloodline than hearing me speak. Said my presence in a mixed pack was a tragedy of wasted potential.”

 Saphira blinked, scoffing. “Did they actually say that?”

 “Oh, they didn’t say it,” he replied with a smirk. “They performed it. Loudly. While not making eye contact.”

 They continued, the table slowly transforming into a tactical tapestry. Red markings clustered tightly over high–risk zones; ck spirals glinted at The Matchmaker. Lists were drawn, updated, reinforced: vulnerable packs, possible allies, dangerous leaners.

 Saphira’s fingers brushed the edge of her Silvermoon diagram again–now one thread in a web of information. They had shape to the threat. Shadows given 

 form. 

 She looked at Niks, who met her gaze across the table.

 He nodded once. No words. Just certainty.

 The foundation wasid. Now came the shake. And they were already shifting the ground.

 The door creaked open with sharp intent, and Raven stepped in first–her braid swinging behind her like a banner of movement, boots leaving faint trails of dust across the polished floor. Her shoulders were taut, ready, her eyes already scanning the room. Jed followed at her heels, nked by two warriors whose steady strides spoke of quiet discipline, their expressions unreadable but far from casual.

 Saphira straightened slightly at the table, her hands still spread over the cluster of marked maps. She felt the hum of rising motion beneath her fingertips- energy about to shift direction.

 Raven’s gazended on theyout, sharp as a de’s edge. “We’ve got a n forming,” she said, voice clipped with purpose. “But I want to know what you’ve found. Anything we can use.”

 Zafira stepped up beside Saphira, brushing a stray curl behind her ear before her fingers skimmed along the edge of the map. “Sundark,” she said, steady. “If Damon’s hunting for a strong vampire, that’s where he’ll go. Old blood. Tradition–obsessed. No tolerance for mixed packs. Their leadership’s fossilised- decades without change.”

 Jed gave a short nod, casting a brief nce at Raven. “Already marked,” he said. “They’re primed for maniption. Power through rigidity Exactly the kind

 of illusion the Elders thrive on.”

 Saphira leaned over thergest map sheet, her fingers tapping two spots in quick session. “Here–Silvermoon’s territory,” she sa We traced potential paths between them. These are the packs caught in between.”

 e–Sundark.

 Niks stepped beside her, his movement fluid, and handed Raven a red marker without a word. She took it, posture dipping as she leaned closer to the map. Her jaw was tight, focus narrowing as she circled names–packs nestled along the route, some neutral, some quietly mixed.

 After a beat, Raven pulled out her phone, snapped a clear photo of theyout, then scribbled notes down one margin, her brow furrowed in thought.

 Jed’s fingers drummed briefly against the edge of the table. “We’ll ask the packs we know. The ones we’ve traded with. If anyone’s seen Damon, they’ll speak.”

 Niks’s stance shifted, just slightly–controlled, but unmistakably alert. “Be cautious,” he said, his tone like steel. “Questions travel fast. If Silvermoon or the Elders catch wind of movement before we act, we lose any foothold.”

 Raven didn’t flinch. “We’ll keep it clean,” she replied, eyes flicking toward Jed–an exchange that lingered a second too long. Something passed between them, quiet and private, like a thread pulled tight. “And we won’te back without Damon. That’s a promise.”

 Jed’s mouth twitched–half smirk, half vow. “We leave early hours,” he said. “Same time as the other team tracking the Elders. Keep the rhythm sharp. Distraction works both ways.” 

 Saphira exhaled slowly, the tension ebbing just enough to let rity settle in. Her eyes swept the map again–lines, circles, routes. The framework was there. Strategies rising like threads weaving through terrain.

 Niks locked eyes with Raven. “Good,” he said. “Be sharp. Be fast.”

 Raven nodded once. 

 “We will,” Jed replied.

17kNovel

Disguise 96