The sulfur shipment, due to its high quality, represented a vital strategic asset—a necessary upgrade for Blake's Project Grog. Deacon could not risk losing the Widow's supply line, but he could not afford to let such a critical, pure resource pass through Oakhaven without seizing it.
He chose the team carefully: Specialist Ruiz (S-4/Logistics) for the acquisition expertise, and Staff Sergeant Tate (S-2/S-6) for security, surveillance, and quick extraction. Corporal Miller (S-7) was needed to manage the structural repairs at the gate and could not be exposed.
Deacon met Ruiz and Tate in the dead of night, using the abandoned brewery as their Command Post. The brewery still carried the scent of pitch and old hops, providing excellent cover.
"The mission is a high-value cargo swap," Deacon explained, spreading Kiley's detailed map of the dock district. "The Widow Elms is moving a large shipment of high-purity sulfur, disguised under cheap textiles, through Warehouse Seven and onto the southern road tomorrow night. We will neutralize the guards, swap the sulfur for an equal weight of common, contaminated sulfur, and extract the cargo without breaking the Widow's internal network."
Ruiz, the logistics expert, frowned. "The Widow uses mercenaries, Sir. They are silent, highly effective, and unlike the local guard, they will fight to the death to protect the cargo. And Warehouse Seven is a choke point. We need quiet."
"We will use the environment," Deacon said. "Tate, you run surveillance on the route. Find their blind spots and their shift change. We hit them during the shift change at the eastern alleyway."
Tate, the scout, nodded. "I can map their movements, Sir. The Widow's guards rely on the noise of the docks to mask their movements. We will use the silence of the alleyway."
"Ruiz, your job is the swap. The cargo must feel and weigh exactly the same. You will prepare the replacement sulfur—contaminated, low-quality, mixed with sand to match the density. The Widow must believe her men were attacked by common bandits who didn't know the sulfur was beneath the cloth, only stealing the superficial cargo." .
The operation was planned for absolute deniability. Ruiz would steal from the Widow, making it look like an attack by a rival smuggling ring, thereby increasing the Widow's need for the Castellan's protection.
The heist took place under the cold, pale light of a half-moon. Tate, moving like a ghost, neutralized the two rear guards using simple, expertly applied pressure points, rendering them unconscious but unharmed. He then set up a quick perimeter.
Ruiz, moving with the speed and silence of a master smuggler, wheeled his empty cart into the alleyway. He and Deacon quickly separated the textile bales, revealing the burlap sacks of the pure, gleaming sulfur. They worked with silent, practiced speed, replacing the pure sacks with the contaminated, heavier substitute. The exchange had to be flawless—the Widow's accountants would check the weight.
As they sealed the last textile bale, a terrifying alarm sounded—not from the guards they had neutralized, but from a nearby warehouse window. The Widow's network was more extensive than they realized.
"We're burned, Sir!" Ruiz whispered, grabbing the handles of the now-laden cart.
"Abort the extraction. Leave the cart!" Deacon commanded. He knew the risk. If they were caught with the cargo, the entire Shadow Command was compromised. "We take the sulfur and nothing else. Now, move!"
They emptied the pure sulfur into a single, large, dark leather bag, leaving the replaced cargo and the substitution evidence behind. They moved, not toward the Hold, but toward the river, dissolving into the chaotic darkness of the docks.
The failure was partial: they secured the vital sulfur, but they lost the cover of deniability, and the Widow Elms would certainly know that the attack was too precise for common bandits.
Deacon returned to the Hold hours later, smelling of sulfur and river muck. Before he could even clean the evidence, the Widow Elms was waiting in his office, dressed in her signature black mourning clothes, her expression cold and venomous.
"Lord Cassian. My shipment was attacked. Two guards were neutralized, and the cargo was compromised. The thieves left the textiles but took the sulfur. They were not bandits, Castellan. Bandits are messy. This was professional. They knew exactly what was beneath the bales."
Deacon maintained the façade of infuriated nobility. "Bandits, Widow? No. This was a rival ring—perhaps the Alchemist Guild seeking to undermine your trade. Lykos is isolated, but his network remains."
"Don't insult me, My Lord. Lykos had the means, but he lacked the skill. I believe your Holy Relic has a very specific scent, Lord Cassian. A sulfurous scent."
The Widow had not just deduced the theft; she had linked it to the Thunder Claps. Deacon's strategic position was instantly compromised.
"What is your price, Widow?" Deacon asked, his voice low and dangerous.
"Your protection is useless, Castellan. My price is not coin. It is a demand. You will officially designate one of your Shadow Command assets—specifically, your 'trade assistant,' Balthasar (Tate)—to act as my personal bodyguard and network runner. He will be my direct line to your protection. If anything happens to Balthasar, my entire network will send a detailed accounting of your 'Holy Relic' and its production methods directly to the Imperial Inquisitors."
The demand was genius: the Widow was demanding Deacon sacrifice his S-2/S-6 intelligence chief to become her personal asset, neutralizing his primary communications node while guaranteeing her protection.
Deacon had no choice. He needed the supply line, and he needed the silence.
"Done, Widow," Deacon said, his voice flat. "Balthasar reports to you at dawn. If you compromise his true mission, I will use that sulfur to burn your entire network to the ground."
The Widow smiled, a thin, chilling expression of victory. "An acceptable risk, My Lord. I will see Balthasar at dawn."