It was late. The kind of late where the moon hung low like it was eavesdropping on our mess of a night. The dining room in House May had basically turned into our war and strategy room, likely because the actual war room that came with this place was fucking terrifying. This place was far cozier. Lanterns flickered in place of the chandelier overhead, scents of the dinner we'd eaten lingering in the air and mingling with the wood and incense of the manor.
I slouched in my chair at the center of the table, my boots kicked up on the table edge, nursing a mug that had gone warm ages ago. It was all I could do to stand Lyra. The moment I'd returned to the manor, she was waiting at the door like an excited puppy. When I'd told her that Meredith wasn't going to be coming today, though, she'd been a loud, complaining mess. Moments like this reminded me that her slot was firmly in the "annoying sister" category and nowhere near where Isobel had tried to place her a few days back.
