The sun had set, casting the training grounds into shadows, but the air remained warm, heavy with the scent of damp earth and tension. Ronan and Lyra were discussing the logistics of the Shadowfang journey with Finn in the quiet, inner courtyard, a space considered secure, away from patrolling guards and echoing stone walls.
Lyra leaned against a marble bench, reviewing the roster of the envoy team Finn had presented. She hadn’t fully closed the door on her Sight since the assassination attempt, keeping a low, constant psychic perimeter humming in the back of her mind.
As Finn detailed the supply requisitions, a sensation colder and cleaner than the surrounding shadows pricked at her awareness. It wasn't the thick, malicious intent of a killer, nor the frantic energy of an ambush. It was
