The wind-spire at dusk looked like a black needle stuck into a gray throat. No lanterns. No rune-strip glow. Just rope lines, the square hum of ward posts, and our breath.
Liora set us in two cells at the maintenance hatch. "Cold tools only," she said. Platinum braid tucked tight, soft blue eyes steady. "No sparks, no aura bursts. If you smell resin: log first, touch second. If your hands shake, put them in your pockets and wait for someone whose hands don't."
She pointed to the chalk board. "Cell One: Armand, Lyra, Mira. Cell Two: Cael, Ariadne, Rhodes. Dorian floats."
We clipped safety lines and checked packs. My kit was light and quiet: Bone Lantern, Bone Sapper, the new Bone Moth in a felt-lined tin, wedges, bone pick, chalk, two seal bags. Marrow and Hollow stayed in Shade, threads tight. No silhouettes.
Lyra met my eyes once. Calm face. Brass badge at her collar. "I'll keep plates from rattling," she said. "Low chord, not a wall."
"Good," I said.
