Lyra paced her chambers, the frustration simmering beneath her skin like a storm waiting to break. The walls of the palace felt impossibly close, suffocating her with their stillness. Since the incident at the river, Mara hadn’t let her so much as step outside the palace gates. Every attempt to reason with her had been met with a firm but evasive response. “It’s not safe,” Mara would say, her voice sharp with worry. But safe from what? Lyra clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She couldn’t live like this—caged, ignorant, treated like a child who couldn’t handle the truth.
The morning light spilled through the high windows, casting golden patterns on the stone floor. Lyra stood still for a moment, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. She needed to move, to do
