Zane’s POV
Lyra’s cheeks were still tear‑stained when I offered her my hand. For three heartbeats she only stared, eyes raw yet shining with a stubborn ember I couldn’t help admiring.
“Thank you… but I need to find a way to save myself, not be saved again.”
Her voice quivered, but the words landed like tempered steel.
I let my palm fall to my side and chuckled softly. “Oh, girl, I’m not saving you—just offering you a toolbox so you can pry open the bars yourself.”
She studied me a moment longer—searching for strings, maybe—and then dipped her head. “Excuse me. Thank you.” She turned and slipped through the French doors, disappearing into corridors gilded with Lucian’s money and misery.
I watched until only emptiness stared back.
“I’ll give her three days,” I murmured to the night.
