The ride back felt shorter.
Same miles. Same gray ribbon of highway. Different weight in her chest.
Lyra watched the city shrink in the side mirror as the Council building disappeared behind concrete and glass. Her wolf didn’t look back.
“On a scale from one to ‘total disaster,’” Cassian said, merging onto the freeway, “how’d that go for you?”
She snorted. “Somewhere between ‘emotionally constipated’ and ‘marginally cathartic.’”
“That’s a glowing review,” he said. “You made an elder flinch. Twice.”
“Highlight of my week,” Lyra admitted.
Silence settled, softer this time. The hum of the engine, the faint rattle in the dash she’d been meaning to fix for days, the low murmur of Elara and Atlas talking over the radio in the lead truck.
“You okay?” Cassian asked, eyes on the road.
“No,
