Lyra noticed that morning, they were too careful. Too polite. Too quick to look away.

Information was leaking.

She stood at the eastern balcony, wrapped in a heavy cloak, watching frost creep along the balustrade. Below, the Frostlands courtyard was already awake as guards rotating posts, messengers arriving earlier than scheduled, council aides clustering in tight conversations that stopped the moment she passed.

They were coordinating.

Behind her, the doors opened softly.

Eira entered, face ...