We treated rehearsal day like the last chance to fix anything small. It's a good superstition. Reika was out even earlier than usual. I found her staring at the Flats the way a carpenter stares at a floor and wonders which board will groan when the guests walk in.
"Which one?" I asked.
She pointed at nothing I could see. "Fourth pole on the west, if someone panics. We move it two feet."
We moved it. Vyr gave the ghost of a smile; she'd already circled that pole in her head.
Lyra tuned the wind to a pattern she didn't describe. Not a trick—she'd promised no tricks—but closer to life: a steady breath that sometimes forgets itself and stumbles. Tiamat pressed her palm to the ground and the ground agreed to do its best.
"Add the third truth," Tiamat said.
