The war room smells like stale coffee and tension that has been brewing longer than the pot on the counter, and I stand near the back wall with my arms folded while Landon moves to the head of the table, his expression already set in that calm, controlled way that means someone is about to lose their footing.
I did not sleep much last night, even though I showered longer than usual and stood under the hot water until the mirror fogged and my skin turned pink, because routine is the only thing that keeps my thoughts from spiraling when something underneath the pack starts shifting in a way that feels deliberate instead of chaotic.
This is deliberate.
The patrol reports are laid out across the table in front of us, along with the letters I found hidden in the storage locker and the small
