Sera had stopped counting the hours since Zubair vanished.
Not because time no longer mattered, but because counting implied waiting, and she was done waiting.
The room above the saloon had become a planning space without anyone intending it to be.
If Zubair was there, he would have called it the war room.
Maps lay open on the table, not because she expected to use them, but because Zubair would have wanted them there.
Aerenyx stood near the window, his posture relaxed but his attention sharp. Psycho sat on the edge of a chair he'd already broken once, his elbows on his knees, his hands loose, and his eyes never still. Caerwyn remained where he always did — close enough to intervene, far enough to observe.
Mae had tried to speak earlier, but her bubbly personality was grating on Sera's nerves. Not that she would ever tell the other woman that. After all, this was her only female friend.
So, instead, Sera had told her to rest.
