Tyla’s POVThe air shifted before Arthur even finished reading the message—thickening, tightening, bending around us as if the walls themselves sensed danger.
Reynold was coming.
My lungs felt too small to hold a full breath.
Hayley sank onto the nearest chair. Lucas rubbed the back of his neck, pacing short, sharp lines across the infirmary floor.
And Arthur…
Arthur didn’t move.
He went very still.
Too still.
The kind of stillness a wolf sinks into before it tears something apart.
“Arthur?” I whispered.
His thumb dragged slowly along the parchment as if memorizing the ink. His jaw clenched hard enough that a nerve pulsed beneath his skin.
Then he lifted his head.
His eyes were wrong.
Not the stormy gray I’d begun to know so well.
Darker.
Colder.
Almost silver.
“He’s close,
