Morning settled over the Osborn compound without ceremony. The sky was still pale when Robert stepped out into the courtyard, the air cool and slightly damp. For a few seconds, he stood still, simply observing. The clan moved differently now.
It was not obvious to someone who did not know them. Training drills still followed the same patterns. Spears rose and fell. Footwork traced worn paths across stone. But there was something altered in the rhythm. Less wasted motion. Fewer careless gestures. Even the younger disciples, who once joked between repetitions, kept their focus longer before their discipline slipped.
Ronan crossed the yard carrying a training spear. His stride had changed since the forest. Not heavier. Not arrogant. Just measured. He placed each step as if aware of what might lie beneath it.
