The rear quad felt like a work yard when people used it right. Ropes coiled on pegs. Buckets lined a wall. A chalk board listed jobs no one wanted and the times they would be done anyway.
Lyra ran the commoners' council at a short table with a ledger and a bell. She sat straight, spoke plain, and kept her eyes on the work, not the people.
"Shift changes during audits," she said. "Two runners per spire. Label coils by lane. Refuge intake keeps the line clear even if nobles want to perform. If someone interferes, you mark their name and send it to me. You don't argue. You don't perform back."
Hands went up. Requests were short. A new pair of gloves. Two ruined aprons. A cracked cart wheel.
"Approved," she said to most. "Log it," she said to the rest. When it was done, she rang the bell. "Fifteen minutes rope and first-aid clinic in the yard. Thank you."
