Chapter 469 - Whispers Beneath the Silk (1)

The war‑room of Lisban's commandeered manor felt smaller than it had an hour ago, as though the stone walls themselves had crept a hand‑span closer with every new scrap of evidence piled onto the map table. It smelled of lamp‑oil, hot wax, damp wool, and the faint pepper tang of the rain that still drummed against shuttered windows. Every sigh of a wick or creak of a bootlace popped in Lyan's ears like musket fire. He forced himself to breathe slower, to let his heartbeat settle, yet tension kept thrumming under his skin, hot and restless.