Lyra
‘What is wrong?’ Caine asked that question, and I wanted the earth to swallow me whole.
I wiped at my cheeks, trying but failing to hide the tears.
He didn’t say anything at first. He just slowly rose from his crouched position and watched me, not with the eyes of a rogue or an Alpha, but with the eyes of someone who had learned to wait. Someone who had seen enough pain to recognize it the moment it surfaced.
Lyra, he called softly, his voice a quiet murmur beneath the thump of distant drums and fireworks cracking in the sky, “Are you okay?”
I shook my head quickly, forcing a brittle laugh. “I am. I just feel…cold."
"That’s not it,” he said gently, and I hated how kind he sounded, how that made everything feel more real and raw.
I bit my lip and turned away, as if hiding my fac
