The sound of fighting outside my bedroom door never seemed to stop.
It started as distant chaos — muffled growls, the crash of doors, the ring of metal clashing against bone. But now it was closer. Too close. The walls themselves seemed to tremble with every impact.
Lyra and I sat huddled in the corner of my bedroom, the faint candlelight flickering across her pale face. She kept a dagger clutched in her hand, though her grip trembled. The scent of smoke was stronger now. Somewhere downstairs, something was burning.
“Varion will come back any second,” Lyra whispered, as much to herself as to me.
“He will.”
I tried to nod, but I couldn’t stop shaking. My throat was tight. Every sound — every thud or scrape in the hall — made my heart leap to my throat. And then, there was silence. A
