Lyra
I didn’t want to cry. Not again. But walking away from Killian like that had reopened a wound I thought I had already stitched up. Guest wing.
Probation.
It meant no trust.
His words kept bouncing around my skull like bees in a jar. I stormed down the corridor without looking back, my fingers tightening into fists at my sides. I didn’t even know where I was going… I just needed to get away from him.
The pack grounds felt strangely distant, like a dream I was only half-remembering. I had walked these same paths before as a child, trailing behind my mother while she carried bandages and salves, helping wounded warriors.
Back then, the warriors had smiled at me, ruffled my hair, called me the little healer’s shadow. Killian would always run up with a stick in hand, pretending it
