I make it as far as the corner outside the training hall before I stop, one hand flattening briefly against the wall as the sensation in my chest rudely fires up with absolute vengeance.
It does not feel simple anymore.
On the drive back to Exton yesterday, I felt it tightening before we even reached the gates. Then, just before dinner, I knew the exact moment Lyra had returned.
I had not seen her.
Had not heard her.
But I felt her all the same, as though my body had finally registered the thing it had been waiting for, and wanted to make me aware.
Loudly.
Walking into the hall changed it again. Proximity eased the ache for a brief moment, then it morphed into something far more insistent.
An answer it demanded, wondering why I was not claiming what it felt was rightfully mine.
Bu
