Lyra did not announce her decision.
She announced movement.
By midday, the outpost shifted in ways that could not be mistaken for coincidence. Patrols changed formation. Banners were raised and then deliberately lowered. Routes that had been sealed were opened briefly and then closed again. Signals flared at irregular intervals, just visible from the ridges.
Not chaos.
Choreography.
Tyler watched it unfold from the upper wall, a slow, dangerous smile cutting across his fatigue.
“You’re ringing the bell,” he said.
“Yes,” Lyra replied. “And making sure everyone hears it at the same time.”
She stood beside him, cloak snapping in the wind, posture open. She wanted to be seen. She wanted every watcher beyond the wall to understand that she was not hiding, not scrambling, not cornered.
