Lyra hadn’t meant to go to the cliffs alone.
She’d left the garage after three straight hours of Theo’s anxious rambling and Cassian’s relentless planning and told herself she was just getting air. Her feet, apparently, hadn’t believed her.
Now she stood where rock dropped into endless blue, wind cutting across the bluff, the ocean below chewing the shore to pieces.
It smelled too much like before.
Salt. Stone. Training days in Thornridge, when Silas had shouted commands over the surf and kids had learned where to put their teeth. Nights when she and Jonah had snuck out here and pretended the world was bigger than their elders’ plans.
Her wolf pressed against her ribs, restless.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
The voice came from behind her, soft but carrying. Lyra didn’t start;
