Morning in the cistern was a single thin bar of light from the ventilation grate.
The light was pale and cold, barely enough to see by. It fell across the stone floor in a narrow rectangle, illuminating the dust motes that drifted in the still air. I watched it move as the sun climbed, marking the passage of time in a place where time felt like an enemy.
We moved before it fully strengthened. Sera split her wolves into pairs and sent them out through different exits to begin placing the first blades in the city. The rest of us stayed below. The plan was simple on its surface and nearly suicidal in its details: survive one more day of hiding, move the remaining loyalists into the trial square in ones and twos, then walk into the spectacle ourselves when Rowan expected only corpses or stan
