The heavy oak table in the center was already covered with maps, notes, and sealed letters, but today none of that mattered.

Kieran stood at the head of the table, his jaw locked tight, his fingers drumming against the wood. Every muscle in his body was wound tight with a cold fury that had not left him since the night Lyra collapsed in his arms. He could still feel the way her body had gone slack, still hear the faint rasp of her breath, still see the pale outline of her lips as the poison ...