Jaxon POV
The bedroom was a sanctuary of shadows, the kind of quiet that pressed against your chest and made every breath feel deliberate. The curtains hung heavy, blocking out the last gasps of daylight, leaving only a faint silver glow from the moon sneaking through the gaps.
I sat in the old armchair by the window, its leather creaking under my weight, my gray eyes locked on Lyra as she slept. Her dark hair fanned across the pillow, a tangle of midnight strands that caught the dim light, and her face—God, her face—was peaceful, soft, like she hadn’t a care in the world. Her chest rose and fell, steady and slow, a rhythm that should’ve calmed me.
But it didn’t. My hands gripped the armrests, knuckles whitening, my jaw clenched so tight I could hear my teeth grinding. Inside, my wolf
