The summons came just after dawn.
A faint knock, barely more than a brush of knuckles against wood, stirred Atheon from the map he'd been studying. He lifted his gaze, jaw tightening instinctively.
Only one person knocked like that.
"Enter," he said.
The door creaked open, and First Lieutenant Maren stepped inside.
Still in half-armor, dirt smudged across her cheek, hair braided back in a curt, efficient sweep—she looked like someone dragged straight from the front lines rather than someone preparing for a political briefing. Her eyes, sharp as cut steel, studied him for a moment.
"You're wanted in the east hall," she said softly. "The adept commanders are waiting."
Atheon didn't move right away. He let his gaze rest on her longer than necessary.
"You came yourself," he noted.
Maren shrugged. "Someone had to drag you out before you overthink us into a useless battle."
He grunted something that might have been a laugh and finally stood.
