We get back at midnight.
Mara waits at gates with hot tea. She sees cut on my neck, already closed, thin pink line. She says nothing. Just hands me tea with honey.
I drink. Hands still shaking a little.
Caelan walks me to third floor. Door still cracked. Room still same. Shackles on sill. Floor nest ready. Iron door in closet dark, closed. No glow.
He stands in hall. Same chair.
"Sleep," he says.
"Okay."
I close door most of way. Leave crack like before.
I lie on floor. Look at ceiling. Can't sleep. Lyra paces inside. Restless after North.
We should have killed her, she mutters. Now North thinks we are soft.
We are not soft. We chose, I tell her.
Choice is soft.
Choice is hard, I say back. Killing is easy.
She goes quiet, thinking about that.
Morning comes fast.
Knock at doo
