The Alpha’s cabin was silent. Ronan had been gone for only an hour, but the energy of his departure, the hurried preparation of the armed escort, the low rumble of his final commands, the brutal, necessary separation of their bodies, still vibrated in the air.
Lyra stood in the main room, watching the fire die down to glowing coals. She had successfully maintained her first post-bond vision without his physical anchor, but the effort had left her feeling like a taut wire. She was emotionally exhausted but too wired to rest.
She walked back toward the small den Ronan had previously used for war planning, the room he had designated her Oracle Chamber. Ronan had clearly worked on the space just before his departure. The maps were still spread, but now her personal items were arranged neatly
