The training yard sat empty, save for a lone figure hunched over a supply crate near the armory's side door. His blue shirt was untucked, tan trousers scuffed at the knees, and his dark ears swiveled at every sound, catching the distant clang of dock bells and the low murmur of guards heading to supper.

The Doberman, Corvin, glanced over his shoulder for the fourth time in as many minutes. His tail flicked nervously.

Corvin winced, flattening his ears, and turned to face the empty courtyard as a pair of recruits rounded the corner, laughing. They didn't notice him. They didn't notice anything.

But Corvin was already slipping toward the shadows, back pressed against the cold stone wall, counting seconds like a soldier in a skirmish he'd never been trained for.