Caspian's POV
The silence in the house felt different now. It wasn't the tense quiet of suspicion anymore. It was heavy and awkward—the kind that settles in when you know you've done something wrong but can't bring yourself to say it out loud yet. I stood outside Lyra's door holding a stack of books, the leather warm against my palms.
My own books.
It felt stupid. I didn't do things like this. But I couldn't stop thinking about her story—the hollow, dead look in her eyes when she told us the truth. Raphael believed her. And I... I was starting to believe her too. The gold-digging schemer I'd imagined didn't match the broken woman who'd stared at the wall for three days straight.
I knocked. Nothing.
"Lyra. It's Caspian." Even I could hear how stiff I sounded.
A long pause. Then, quiet
