Lyra didn’t sleep.
Not because of fear.
Because sleep blurred edges, and she needed everything sharp.
By dawn, the compound was already humming with restrained tension. The kind that didn’t announce itself loudly but pressed in on the skin. Wolves moved with purpose that felt rehearsed, like they’d all been given half-instructions and were waiting for the rest.
That meant Ronan had spoken.
Not openly.
Selectively.
Tyler found her in the armory, tightening the strap on her gauntlet with more force than necessary.
“He’s moving pieces,” he said without preamble.
Lyra nodded. “He always does after silence.”
“This isn’t silence,” Tyler replied. “This is positioning.”
She met his gaze. “Then he’s close.”
Tyler didn’t argue. He rarely did when she was right.
The message came midmorni
