CHEYENNE
The room is still holding its breath when Landon steps back.
He doesn’t surrender control.
He makes space.
That difference matters.
I feel the shift ripple outward through posture and breath, through the way patrol leaders square their shoulders and the way elders brace like they are preparing to be struck rather than questioned.
Layla hums low beneath my ribs.
Now.
“Yes,” I murmur internally. “Now.”
I don’t lift the list again.
I let it sit on the table between us, visible but no longer the center.
Because dumping every name at once would fracture the room into chaos, and chaos is what they expect.
Instead, I look toward the patrol leaders.
“Who approved the last three route changes along the eastern ridge,” I ask calmly.
No accusation in my tone.
Just a question.
