We treated the third day like it was the last chance to fix anything small. That's a good superstition. Reika was even earlier than usual. I caught her staring at the Flats the way a carpenter stares at a floor and wonders which board will groan when guests walk.
"Which one?" I asked.
She pointed at nothing obvious. "Fourth pole on the west, if someone panics," she said. "We move it two feet."
We moved it. Captain Vyr gave the ghost of a smile; she'd already circled that pole in her head.
Lyra tuned the wind to a pattern she didn't tell me about. Not a trick—she'd promised no tricks—but closer to life: a steady breath that sometimes forgets itself and stumbles. Tiamat pressed her palm to the ground and the ground agreed to try its best.
"Add the third truth," Tiamat said.
