"Two questions," Draven said.
The courier stared.
"Who carries the bronze tokens now?"
"I don't know what—"
Draven shifted pressure by less than an inch.
The man made a sound that was almost a sob and swallowed it because even panic knew this was the wrong place to be loud.
"Who carries them?" Draven repeated.
The courier's eyes darted once toward the east path.
Answer enough.
Draven asked the second question. "Where does tonight's relay go?"
The courier clamped his jaw shut.
Draven did not threaten. He did not negotiate. He simply held the man there until instinct betrayed discipline. A twitch in the throat. A flicker of the gaze. Not north. Not townward. Ridge crossing.
Good.
Draven released pressure just long enough to reach into the courier's coat and confiscate the token stitched into the inner pocket. Old bronze. Circle and notch.
The courier went pale.
That was when he understood something worse than pain.
He had not been caught by an adventurer.
