Warren’s POVEamon had the unsettling habit of speaking like time wasn’t pressing down on all of us.He moved slowly around the table, adjusting the stones that held the map flat as though he were arranging something ceremonial rather than tactical. Every instinct in me bristled at the delay. Lana’s fear still echoed faintly through the bond, not sharp anymore, but persistent—like a held breath that never fully released.“Start talking,” I said, voice tight. “Now.”Eamon didn’t look offended. He didn’t even look surprised. He simply folded his hands and leaned his weight back against the table.“Callen is not searching randomly,” he said. “He’s following fault lines.”Rowan frowned. “Geographic?”“Historical,” Eamon corrected. “Territorial scars. Places where authority changed hands violently. Places wh
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