Lyra woke to sunlight instead of alarms.
For the first time in days, her body hadn’t jolted awake to wards flaring or Council voices echoing in her head. Just warm light across her face and the soft weight of a blanket that smelled like pine and laundry soap instead of motel bleach.
Her wolf stretched, pleased. No urgency. No command.
It was…unnerving.
She lay there a moment, staring at the wooden ceiling of the guest cabin—hers now, if she was honest—and listened.
Hollow Ridge sounded different in peace. No frantic footsteps, no shouted orders. Just birds outside, the distant murmur of conversation from the main house, a truck starting somewhere up the hill. The steady, silver hum of the wards in the back of her mind had settled from a taut wire to a low, guarded purr.
They’d done i
