The dawn came empty.
No horns. No ladders. No movement on the beach. The Greek camp was quiet — not the quiet of sleep, but the quiet of waiting.
Lysander stood on the northern wall, watching. His hand rested on the stone parapet. His eyes moved across the sand, the tents, the ships.
Nothing.
"They're not coming," Paris said. He was beside Lysander, his bow in hand, his eyes narrowed. "No formation. No advance."
"I see it."
"What does it mean."
Lysander didn't answer immediately. He watched the Greek camp for another long moment. The fires were burning. Men were moving between tents. But no one was picking up weapons. No one was forming lines.
"It means they're doing something else," he said.
Hector arrived at the wall within the hour. He didn't ask what was happening. He looked at the empty beach and understood.
"No attack," he said. It wasn't a question.
"No attack."
