Miros and Deia arrived at the training compound at the third hour.
Miros came first — his bound arm against his chest, his left hand on his sword hilt, his face carrying the controlled stillness of a man who did not waste movement. Deia followed behind him, her tablet under her arm, her stylus behind her ear. She had been at the school when Fylon found her. She had run the entire way.
Lysander was standing in the centre of the compound. Not sitting. Not leaning against the wall. Standing, the way Hector stood when he had something to say that required his full weight behind it.
Miros stopped at the gate. He looked at Lysander's face and read it the way he read a battlefield — fast, complete, filing the information before acting on it.
"You found something," Miros said.
"Close the gate."
Miros closed it. The compound was enclosed — stone walls on three sides, the training ground on the fourth. No one could see in. No one could hear unless they were standing at the gate.
