Lyra
Sleep never came easily anymore. Not with Damon loose in the world again. Not with the whispers of war curling like smoke through my thoughts.
The night pressed heavy around the pack house, thick with silence. The kind of silence that came before storms. I sat at the window of Killian’s chambers, watching the moon paint silver veins across the forest. For a moment, the beauty of it was almost enough to soothe me. Almost.
But behind my eyes, the past uncoiled.
I remembered another moon like this, bloodied by fire, smeared by screams. Damon and Leo had come then, too, their blades sharper than our defenses, their hunger deeper than our courage. I remembered running through the Ether Pack’s halls as they crumbled, Selene’s laughter cutting through the smoke, Damon’s hand dragging me
