The manor's hall smelled faintly of ink and firewood when Tristan, Shannon, and Mira returned that evening.
Lamps burned steady along the walls, throwing soft light across the long table that waited in the center. Tara was already there, seated straight-backed, with ledgers stacked neatly in front of her.
"You're late," she said, though her tone was weary rather than sharp. "I ate dinner ahead of you."
Tristan slid into the chair across from her, already pulling his ledger from under his arm. Shannon moved to the head of the table, his presence quiet but commanding, while Mira leaned against the wall. She still carried her bow but had chalk in her hand, ready to mark whatever she needed.
Tara tapped the open ledger with her stylus. "These are the manor accounts—grain yields, livestock births, egg tallies, vegetable plots. I've had to double the servants' duties since Kim left. They're stretched thin, but they've managed."
"Managed how?" Tristan asked, voice even.
