The “show” started sooner than Lyra liked.
Two days into the new pattern, the wards brushed her mind with that now-familiar static: a touch on the north ravine, light but deliberate. Not a hit. A knock.
She was in the garage with Theo, halfway through bullying his code into behaving. The sensation made her spine straighten.
“Again,” she said.
Theo glanced up from his keyboard. “Ravine?”
“Yeah.” She tapped her temple. “Same spot. Same soft poke.”
He pulled up the live feed. The image wobbled, then focused on the narrow choke point. Trees. Rock. Nothing.
“There,” Lyra said.
A figure stepped into view.
Not a pack wolf. Too still, too careful in the way he placed his feet. Young—twenties, maybe. Dark hair, posture held like a soldier trying not to look like one. He wore neutral clothe
