__hot__ — Fort Marrok

The figure smiled. At least, the porcelain face seemed to crack in a way that might have been a smile.

Elara looked at the key. Looked at the well. Thought of the photograph on her mantel—the man in the faded uniform, the one who had walked into the fort seventeen years ago and never walked out. fort marrok

The figure reached out with one too-long hand. From its sleeve, something clinked—a key, old and brass, shaped like a howling wolf's head. The figure smiled

Elara had lived at Fort Marrok for seven years. She had mapped every tunnel, every hidden cistern, every root-cellar and forgotten magazine. She had never seen that door. The figure smiled. At least