The strike did not come at dawn.
Lyra had expected that. Everyone did. Attacks that arrived with the sun were predictable, dramatic, meant to rattle the half-awake and punish fatigue. Whatever waited beyond the wall had already shown it preferred something cleaner.
Precision waited for certainty.
Lyra woke before the outpost thoroughly stirred, the sense of it sitting heavy in her chest. Not dread. Alignment. The quiet knowledge that the board had finally settled enough for someone to move.
She dressed without a rush and stepped into the corridor just as Tyler emerged from the opposite doorway.
“You feel it too,” he said.
“Yes.”
Neither asked what it was.
They walked the inner ring together, boots echoing softly on stone. Guards straightened as they passed, not out of fear, but rea
