Elara's pov
The war room felt smaller at night.
It was the candles, probably, the way they pulled the light inward, made the shadows press closer at the edges of the room, reduced everything to the circle of faces around the table and the maps spread between them. During the day this room felt like possibility. Maps spread across every surface, plans sketched out on parchment, the sense that something was being built, something that could change things. At night it felt like the weight of everything that still needed doing, pressing down on all of us.
Corvus was still talking. I caught the thread of it, grain allocations, district volunteers, the logistics of moving provisions through the lower city without creating bottlenecks or drawing the wrong kind of attention. His voice was steady, measured, the voice of a man who had spent hours thinking through every detail. He had lists. He had contingencies. He had answers for almost every question anyone had raised.
