I show up to training on time.
Not early.
Not late.
On time is neutral, and neutral is what I need them to believe I am.
The sun is already high enough to burn off the last of the morning chill, and the training grounds are loud in the way they always are, boots striking dirt, orders cutting through air, wolves sparring in controlled bursts of aggression that look chaotic from a distance but follow strict rhythm up close.
I braid my hair loosely today instead of tight, and I let my shoulders sag just slightly, not enough to look weak but enough to suggest I did not sleep well.
It is not hard to sell.
The last few nights have been heavy with movement and calculation, and I allow a hint of that to show.
Watchers relax when they think you are tired.
They mistake exhaustion for retrea
