By the following day, Ranevia's narrow alleys were filled with movement. Under Lan's orders, the Mad Vipers sharpened blades, packed provisions, and outfitted themselves in blackened leather and muted armor—none of the usual chaos or drunkenness was seen in their ranks.
A strange discipline had begun to take root. It was fear, but it was also something more that.
Purpose perhaps.
In a corner of the newly-claimed governor's estate, around a heavy oak table, Lan sat with his most trusted figures. Seraphine, absent, having not come out her room in a long time.
When Lan asks about her wellbeing, Miller tells him she's fine, however she seemed to have grown some sort of obsession with the words of the script he gave her.
But aside from her, the rest—Venom, Halmer, Thorn, Wren, and Garran—were present, hunched over maps and diagrams illuminated by flickering lanterns.
Lan stood, fingers resting lightly on the edge of the table.
"The plan has changed," he announced.
