Night settled over the dye-works loft in uneven layers. The wizard's mask held steady. Outside, the capital's screens kept up their restless cycle, but the service court stayed ordinary, just another quiet corner of the lower districts.
Lara took the first watch at the window, elbows on the sill, eyes scanning the alleys.
The swordsman claimed a crate near the stair and, for once, kept his mouth shut. Clara worked by the light of a single shaded lamp, refining the three exit routes and the first distribution sequence. Eli sat with his back against the far wall, eyes half-closed, listening to the building settle around them.
Atlas stayed near the center of the loft. The emperor stood a few paces away, not quite joining the others and not quite pulling back. The earlier talk in the corner still hung between them, thick enough that neither man could step clear of it.
Eli was the one who finally broke the quiet.
