Lachlan was not fool enough to think that he was free to come and go from Hiraeth as he pleased, just because Calvin was no longer in residence. He still shared a room with Finch, who was tolerable enough company but would no doubt report any suspicious absences. Fortunately enough for Lachlan, the man was not as young as he once was and once he fell to sleeping, he was difficult to rouse.
The pretense of retiring to bed early was not implausible. Canwyn was almost upon them, and the days out on the grounds were long and tiring. Lachlan waited until the room was filled with the droning snores of his roommate before he stole off the grounds in the dead of night. It had only been a few days since he and Morrigan had taken their first steps toward reconciliation, but the thought of remaining in his bed never crossed his mind. This was bigger than them, which was saying something given how truly momentous the day in the graveyard had been.
There was no sense of relief when Lachlan met up with his fellow resistants. He trusted that they would be there, just as they trusted in him, and they worked as a seamless unit as Fiona directed their movements. For something that was set to cause so much destruction, the bomb seemed fairly innocuous, fitting in his bag in much the same way that flower bulbs would have. Then again, he knew full well how much destruction could be wrought with one seemingly harmless item. He had destroyed a life and wiped out another with little more than one matchstick, after all.
Crouching down on the opposite side of the tracks to Fiona, Lachlan checked and rechecked the bomb. Clandestine as their activities were, they could hardly conduct them in the full light of day. Everything was done under the cover of darkness, and there was no margin for error, they had to be sure that it would go off as planned. “It is ready, I think,” he murmured, looking over to his dear friend for confirmation that she thought the same way.