Chapter 64: Into the Jaws of the Wolf
The preparations were a study in grim efficiency, a silent ballet of impending violence performed in the bowels of Silverfang Keep. There were no shouted orders, no clamor of arms. Only the soft scuff of boots on stone, the muted click of weapons being checked, and the tense, shallow breathing of people staring into the abyss.
Lyra stood in the armory, allowing Ronan to help her into the specialized gear. It was not the heavy plate of a frontline warrior, but something far more sinister. A form-fitting suit of matte-black, nano-weave armor, designed to dissipate energy signatures and blend into shadows. It was cold against her skin, a second skin of impending danger.
"The insulation will protect you from the worst of the cold, but not for long," Ronan said, his voice a low grumble as he tightened a strap over her shoulder. "You have a six-hour window before the cold becomes lethal, even for a shifter."
