The woman stood beneath the archway as though she had been waiting there for years.
Perhaps she had.
Her silver hair fell over her shoulders, and the black dress she wore seemed almost untouched by time. Around her neck hung the same phoenix Elena had seen carved throughout the crypt.
But there was nothing threatening about her.
Only exhaustion.
And grief.
“You know us?” Elena asked.
The woman looked at her for a long moment.
“I knew your grandmother.”
Elena’s breath caught.
“You knew my grandmother?”
“Your grandmother knew me.”
Lyra’s eyes moved to Evelyn.
“And she knew what you were.”
Evelyn stiffened.
“What am I?”
Lyra’s expression softened.
“That is the question your mother spent her life trying to keep you from asking.”
Adrian stepped forward.
“You’re Lyra Blackwood
