Lyra
Killian was still staring at me as though I had sprouted wings and flown instead of simply spoken. His eyes, storm-dark and searching, fixed on me with such intensity that it was hard to breathe.
“Moonveil,” he repeated, softer this time, the name rolling from his tongue like a prayer.
The forest was quiet around us, a silence that felt too deep, too purposeful, as if the trees themselves were listening. Moonveil stirred within me, stretching, her presence cool and ancient, carrying a weight that never quite belonged to me.
Killian’s brows drew low.
“That… doesn’t sound like any wolf I have ever heard of. Where did you come up with it? Does she have a name? Other than Moonveil?”
I let out a breath, trying not to smile at his suspicion.
“I didn’t. She gave it to me. Moonveil i
