Lyra didn’t know how long she’d been walking.
The forest had softened around her—less clawing, more watchful. The trees leaned in close, their branches whispering secrets she couldn’t quite hear. Her mark pulsed gently, no longer burning, but never still.
She found a hollow beneath a willow and curled into it, knees drawn to her chest. The moss was damp. Her cloak smelled of pine and ash. And her thoughts were louder than ever.
Jaren’s kiss still lingered on her lips.
It hadn’t been gentle. It had been real like something ancient waking inside her. And that terrified her more than anything.
She pressed her fingers to her mark.
It glowed faintly, responding to her touch like a heartbeat.
“I don’t know who I am,” she whispered to the trees.
The forest didn’t answer.
She pulled out t
