Moonrise gave them less than three hours.
That was what sat over the great hall once Tobin's slip had been read, once the tally room had been stripped, and once Bell Hollow's ledgers had been laid open under lamp light for the people Cassian trusted most with the next move. The black hut above the shepherd cut was no longer just another mark on Rowan's chain. It was the last hold her north line could still use before the route either folded in on itself or was forced into something rougher and more exposed.
The hall moved with that knowledge in it. Lamps were dragged closer to the north wall map. Dry cloaks were brought in from the hooks by the inner doors. Men came in from the wall with snow on their boots, took food in two bites, and went back out. Women crossed the room with wraps, bandages, hot broth, and writing boards, not in panic now, but with the colder purpose of a house that had finally seen what someone meant to take from it.
