The feast burned on long after the moment had passed.
Music rose in low, rhythmic pulses. Laughter followed. The pack moved in loose circles around the firelight, shadows stretching and folding with every flicker of flame.
But for Lyra the world had narrowed.
Not to the crowd.
Not to the celebration.
To a single, fleeting moment she could not undo.
Lyra stood just beyond the brightest reach of the torches, her posture composed, her expression calm.
No one looking at her would see it.
But beneath that stillness
Her control wasn’t perfect anymore.
Her wolf was awake.
Restless.
You crossed a line.
Lyra ignored it.
She watched the pack instead—how they welcomed Rowan, how easily he was beginning to fit into something he had only just discovered.
He laughed at something Marcus sa
