Lyra POV
The terrace was a silver-draped haven, the full moon casting its radiant glow over the stone, bathing Jaxon and me in a light that felt like a lover’s touch, soft and eternal. The night air was cool, scented with pine and wildflowers, a gentle breeze stirring my dark hair, loose and flowing, catching the moonlight like a river of midnight.
The remains of our picnic lay scattered on the deep blue blanket—crumbs of crusty bread, a half-empty bottle of wine glinting ruby-red, slices of apple gleaming like moonstones. Jaxon’s arm was warm around my shoulders, his woodsmoke-and-cedar scent enveloping me, grounding me, his heartbeat a steady drum beneath my cheek as I leaned into him, my hazel eyes fixed on the moon, its molten silver surface a beacon in the indigo sky, stars twinkli
