The stables smelled of hay and damp earth. Lanterns swung from iron hooks, throwing steady light across beams and rows of stalls. Hooves shifted. Leather creaked. Familiar. Grounding.
Revik lounged in the doorway with his arms folded, smirk already in place. The moment Lyra stepped into the lantern glow—boots laced, hair braided with a strip of linen—he fired.
“Well, well,” he drawled. “Now you look more like the thief you are.”
Lyra didn’t miss a beat. “Better a thief than boring company.”
Revik pressed a hand to his chest. “Please. I happen to be excellent company.”
I shook my head, a dry chuckle slipping out. “You would think that.”
He grinned wider and pushed off the post. I moved to the boy waiting by the stalls. Barely ten, but standing stiff as a spear, proud to be seen.
“Hav
