The quiet after refusal was not relief.
It was recalibration.
Lyra felt it settle into the outpost like a second skin. Wolves moved more slowly, not from fatigue, but from awareness. Every step was chosen—every glance measured. Even the wind felt watched, tugging at cloaks and banners as if testing which way they would lean.
She stood on the inner rampart longer than necessary, letting herself absorb the shift. The land beyond the wall no longer pressed openly. It waited. That was worse.
Tyler joined her without speaking, his presence grounding in a way she had stopped questioning. He leaned his forearms on the stone beside hers, gaze fixed outward.
“They’re gone,” he said quietly.
“Yes,” Lyra replied. “For now.”
“And they’re not.”
She nodded. “They’re close enough to matter. Far e
