The cheerful chaos of the orphanage garden – the shouts of "Badger trap this way!", Syd's enthusiastic instructions, and Prince Leonard's imperious commands to Darien – suddenly felt leagues away.
The System's red-tinged alert pulsed like a bruise behind Eamond's eyes. Reconnaissance. Hostile Action. Near our stand.
He met Vale's unwavering gaze. The shadowguard didn't need words; the minute shift in Eamond's posture, the sudden stillness beneath the forced calm, was signal enough.
Vale gave an almost imperceptible nod, his focus instantly sharpening, scanning the orphanage perimeter and the street beyond the gate with renewed intensity. His silent message was clear: Go. I hold the fort.
"Farrah," Eamond called, his voice deliberately light but carrying an undertone that snapped her head up from the breakfast dishes.
