Lyra waited three days.
Not because she needed time.
Because Ronan Crowe expected hesitation.
Silence, to him, always meant damage. Grief. Uncertainty. Retreat. He would be watching for a public response, a misstep, a reaction sharp enough to confirm that his last move had landed cleanly.
So Lyra gave him none.
She stayed out of the yard. Missed two council hours without explanation. Let Tyler handle patrol rotations and disciplinary matters openly, while she disappeared into places no one thought to look anymore.
Places that didn’t feel powerful.
The records room was one of them.
It smelled of dust and old ink, the air thick with neglect. No guards lingered here. No one necessarily needed access once the tallies were signed and forgotten.
Lyra sat alone at the stone table with a
