The first confession came before dawn.
Lyra was awake when the knock sounded on her door. Not the soft, apologetic knock of someone asking permission. This one was sharp. Urgent. Afraid.
Mara entered without waiting.
“We have a confession,” she said.
Lyra sat up slowly. Her body felt heavy, like sleep had settled into her bones instead of leaving them. “Who?”
Mara hesitated just long enough to make Lyra’s stomach tighten. “Eron. Third watch. Western patrol.”
Lyra closed her eyes for a brief second.
Eron was old. Not elderly, but pack-old. He’d been there before Tyler took command. Before Ronan, a name people whispered rather than spoke aloud.
“He asked to see you,” Mara added. “Not Tyler.”
That mattered.
“Bring him,” Lyra said.
They brought Eron in with his hands bound, even tho
