Lyra's Point of View
It wasn't just that the world had tilted; it had been split in two. Lyra the Omega, the survivor, and the bartender wanted to crumple, scream until my voice gave out, and let the tidal wave of despair pull me under. But a newer, stronger being, Lyra the mother, was pushing that part aside without mercy. Someone had broken into her territory and stolen her cub. A cold, sharp rage was freezing the panic in my veins and turning it into a weapon.
The medallion was no longer a warm, comforting weight on my skin. It was a live wire that hummed with power that felt like my own heartbeat sped up a thousand times. The green light that came from it wasn't just a glow; it was a scream—a scream of connection, of violation, of a bond that was about to break.
I looked straight in
