Lyra
The war table was littered with maps, stones, and hastily scrawled notes. The flicker of lantern light cast long shadows, making everything feel sharper and heavier. Luca had fetched parchment and ink, and now the three of us leaned over the spread, our breaths mingling with the scent of wax and steel.
“This is where they will come again,” Luca said, jabbing a finger at the eastern ridge. “The path hasn’t changed in years. Damon knows it, Leo knows it. They will assume we haven’t altered a thing since they didn't use it last time.”
Killian leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, jaw hard.
“Then we make them believe that assumption. We leave it open, tempting. But when they step in…” he smacked a fist lightly against his palm. “We crush them.”
My fingers hovered over the parchmen
