I called Vera to my study exactly twenty-four hours after my conversation with Lyra, timing the meeting for midnight when the compound was quiet and we would be truly alone. No guards, no advisors, no witnesses to what I suspected would be the most important conversation of my life.
She entered with her usual confidence, carrying a stack of reports and wearing the expression of someone prepared for routine business. But I noticed the way her eyes quickly scanned the room, checking for threats or changes, the automatic assessment of someone who lived constantly aware of danger.
"You look troubled," she said, settling into her usual chair across from my desk. "The Cornelia situation?"
It was a test, I realized. Lyra had arranged the meeting as requested, and Vera was gauging my reaction t
