Chapter Sixty-Eight
*Echoes and a Call*
The penthouse was quiet. Too quiet. The only sound was the soft scratch of Lyra’s charcoal pencil on thick, creamy paper. She was drawing again—not a design for a building, but a memory. It was the curve of a church pew, the blur of stained glass, the chaotic lines of running feet. It was her ruined wedding day.
She was trying to capture the chaos, to control it on paper. But as her hand moved, her mind drifted back to another memory, one that cut deeper.
She was in a bridal fitting shop, just weeks before the disaster. The air was thick with perfume and fake smiles. Saphira was there, of course, pretending to help.
“Turn around, Lyra, let me see the back,” Saphira had said, her voice sweet as syrup. Lyra had turned, feeling vulnerable in the pu
