That evening, Robert and Fiona sat in the dim corner of the pub, spreading rough notes across a worn wooden table. The chatter of drunken patrons mixed with the clinking of glasses, but their conversation remained low and grave.
"If we wait a month, we'll have enough time to prepare the infiltration," Robert whispered, tapping a small scrap of parchment.
"But the risk is too high. Too much could change inside the palace by then."
Fiona laced her fingers together, brows furrowed. "I know. But it's the only path we have… unless there's—"
Her words were cut short by the quiet scrape of a chair beside them. Fiona's eyes widened as a cloaked girl slipped into the seat across the table. It took her a heartbeat to recognize the young face beneath the rough hood.
"Liora?" Fiona gasped.
The girl pulled back her hood just enough to reveal her anxious eyes. Her gaze darted to Robert, who instinctively rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.
