Lyra
The forest listened when I screamed his name.
It didn’t answer. It only echoed me back, a hollow sound that rattled through the trees and died like a dying flame. The wind carried my voice, scattered it like ash. Every root, every leaf, every trembling blade of grass seemed to know that something had been ripped from the fabric of this world.
Killian was gone.
His scent ended at the southern border, abrupt, clean, like a page torn out of a book. No trace of a struggle, no blood, no broken branches. Nothing. That was what terrified me the most. Whoever had taken him hadn’t fought him. They had erased him.
I stood at the edge of the clearing, fists clenched, breath coming in shallow bursts. The bond that had once pulsed warm and steady inside me now flickered faintly, like a candle
