Lyra did not retreat after the rider left.
She remained on the wall until the sun climbed high enough to burn the mist from the lowlands, until the land beyond could no longer pretend innocence. The third force had made its move. Not an attack. Not yet. An idea.
Remove her.
She let the thought settle, turn over, sharpen.
Tyler stayed beside her, silent, present, the steady weight of someone who understood that this moment mattered not because of what was said, but because of what would follow.
“They think you’re portable,” he said finally.
“Yes,” Lyra replied. “That’s the mistake.”
He glanced at her. “You’re not offended.”
“No,” she said. “I’m informed.”
They descended from the wall together. No rush. No tension visible to the watching ridges. Lyra wanted the land to understand th
