"They will come harder this time."
"Then hold harder," Draven returned. "Timing is everything." He snapped the charcoal in half, as if to underscore that times could break.
From a pouch he produced polished manacles of silver and black electrum, runes pulsing inside the links like heartbeat worms. He placed them, one by one, before each commander. "Lightning-binding fetters. Wear them or you fight alone."
Azra rotated hers in the lantern light, whistling low at the craftsmanship. Helyra fastened hers immediately, jaw set. Edrik hesitated only a second longer, then locked the band around his wrist with a quiet click. Alder followed suit last, the cuff clamping over his linen sleeve with a metallic finality.
Draven watched the last clasp close, satisfied. "You lose the manacle, you lose your mind—literally. Memory leeching will strip every strategy you ever learned. Keep them tight."
Vaelira spread her palms flat on the table. "And coordination?"
