The rain over Fort Marrok fell in sheets, turning the ancient parade ground into a mirror of mud and sky. It had been seventeen years since the fort was officially abandoned—seventeen years since the last regiment marched out, their brass buttons tarnished, their eyes fixed on the distant railroad depot.
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. fort marrok
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. The rain over Fort Marrok fell in sheets,