For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to pressure.
Magic hooked into Lyra’s chest like a hand in her ribs, yanking her toward the shimmer over the ravine. Old words wound through the pull, thick with command.
Lyra. Come home.
Her knees dipped. Her wolf reared, torn between fury and the old reflex to obey.
“No,” she ground out.
Cassian moved.
One second he was heat at her side, the next his hands were on her shoulders, solid. His wolf flared, a hot wall slamming between her and the tug.
“Eyes on me,” he said, low and edged with Alpha. “Not them. Me.”
She clung to his voice.
The wards flared, a rippling veil of light across the ravine. A shape pressed against it from the far side—broad shoulders, familiar stance. Not Jonah. Heavier. Older.
Silas.
His scent knifed through the air: ce
