The tavern at Blackwater smelled of salt, smoke, and old secrets.

Lyra sat in the farthest corner, listening for rumors. Instead, a stranger sat across from her without asking permission.

He was dressed in black leather, with a scar crossing one eyebrow and eyes too calm for a man in a dangerous town.

“You are being followed,” he said.

Lyra reached for the knife beneath the table. “By whom?”

“Three men wearing the royal wolf crest.”

Her breath caught.

The stranger placed a map on the table. A route had been marked through the eastern forest.

“If you want to live,” he said, “leave before midnight.”

“Why help me?”

He smiled, but there was no warmth in it.

“Because Lord Varyn ruined my family too.”