Lyra did not sleep.

The palace breathed differently at night, it felt less guarded, less curated. Truth moved more freely in the dark. So did fear. She stood at the window of the Alpha wing long after the torches below had burned low, watching snow collect in shallow drifts along the courtyard paths. Each flake erased footprints. Each moment rewrote the ground beneath the palace’s certainty.

She liked that.

Behind her, the room was quiet. Kieran had left earlier, not because she asked him to, ...