LYSSARA
She is inside.
Three words delivered in a damaged voice, and the courtyard was already moving before the words finished landing, Kaevra’s wolves toward the intruder, Thalric's wolves toward the pack house, Kaevra herself reading the situation with the flat, efficient calculation of a commander who had prepared for contingencies and was now executing the correct one. I did not need to direct any of it. I only needed to move.
I moved. The pack house door was twenty feet from where I had been standing when the declaration's gold finished fading, and I crossed those twenty feet with the specific controlled urgency of a woman who had learned the difference between panic and purpose eleven months ago on a cold floor in Ironveil and who had not confused them since. Not running, running
