Lyra’s POV
The hospital smelled of disinfectant and heartbreak.
I clutched the bouquet of fresh flowers Zane had given the guards to pass me. My heart beat fast as I stepped through the white double doors. The hallway was too quiet, the air too heavy. It was as if every breath hurt.
Room 104.
That’s where they said she had been moved.
The guard waited by the elevator, watching me. He didn’t follow, but I could feel his shadow anyway.
I stepped in.
And saw her.
“Mom,” I whispered, dropping the flowers to the floor.
Her face was thinner, her skin pale against the stark white pillows. Tubes ran along her arms. But her eyes—those tired, tender eyes—lit up the moment they found me.
“Lyra,” she breathed, her voice weak but still my mother’s.
I ran to her side, falling to my knees besi
