Lyra woke to silence.
Not peace—just absence. The spirits had gone quiet. The forest held its breath, as if waiting for something to break.
She sat up slowly, every muscle aching, her mark pulsing like a wound stitched too tight. The air was thick with damp earth and the metallic tang of magic. Kade was nearby, sharpening his blade with slow, deliberate strokes. Jaren leaned against a tree, arms crossed, watching her with unreadable eyes.
Neither spoke.
She looked down.
Two sigils burned on her skin one steady and blue, the other wild and red. They pulsed out of sync, like rival heartbeats.
Her heart stuttered.
Kade approached first, his voice low. “You’ve been out for two days.”
Lyra blinked. “Two?”
He nodded, eyes shadowed. “The spirits wouldn’t let us near you. They said you we
