LILY SAT cross-legged on the floor of the safehouse, the cold concrete pressing against her thighs, her hands wrapped around the mug of coffee that had gone lukewarm hours ago.
She had replayed the message from his envoy twenty times in her head, examining every word, weighing every possible trap.
Neutral ground. One of his conditions. No guards visible, no weapons allowed inside the meeting room. A trap, she knew, but Cassian had learned to cloak threats in civility, to dress manipulation in the language of survival.
She looked over at Jeremiah, who was quietly leaning against the wall, scanning the city through the cracked blinds. His expression was unreadable, but Lily knew him well enough to see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands flexed at his sides. He had not questioned he
