Lyra’s POV
"Nobody else can know about this," Elowen said, latching the door of the small, windowless chamber deep beneath the palace's oldest wing. "Not yet. Not until we understand what we're actually working with."
"That's reassuring," I muttered.
"It's meant to be practical, not reassuring." Mira set down a basket of supplies on the stone table at the room's center — bandages, herbs, a small wounded bird resting in a nest of cloth, its wing bent at an unnatural angle. "We thought we'd start small. Controlled. Somewhere private enough that if something goes wrong, it stays contained."
"Something going wrong sounds ominous."
"Better ominous and prepared than reckless and surprised," Elowen said, settling onto a stool with the same unhurried patience she brought to everything. "Power
