Lyra had never packed for a Council trip before.
Running, yes. Vanishing, absolutely. But not flying straight into the jaws of the institution that had once watched her life crack and called it “necessary.”
Her duffel lay open on the guest cabin bed, half full of clothes. Practical layers. No dresses. One decent shirt Elara had bullied her into accepting.
“Comfort first,” the Luna had said. “You can’t breathe, you can’t speak.”
Lyra tossed in a spare pair of boots and eyed the remaining space like it had personally offended her.
What did you pack to face your past? Extra sarcasm?
A soft knock on the doorframe made her wolf flick an ear.
“Busy?” Cassian asked.
He leaned against the jamb, jacket unzipped, travel bag slung over one shoulder. The sight of him with luggage made it feel
