Lyra didn’t answer immediately.
That was deliberate.
She stood facing the five figures, the wind tugging at her cloak, the ground uneven beneath her boots. She catalogued everything the way she always did when danger was close. Distances. Weight shifts. The way the front man took a half-step forward, not because he was dominant, but because the others allowed it.
Leadership by consent.
That mattered.
“Recruitment,” Lyra said at last. “It is usually preceded by explanation.”
The man smiled faintly. “So is execution.”
“That wasn’t your intent,” Lyra replied. “If it were, I wouldn’t be standing.”
His smile deepened. “True.”
He inclined his head. “Call me Ash.”
She didn’t offer a name in return.
Ash didn’t press for one.
That told her more than any declaration of allegiance could h
