Chapter Twenty-Three
The rivalry did not explode.
It sharpened.
Lyra felt it the moment she woke.
The bond was different this morning—no longer humming with quiet balance, no longer content. It stretched instead, taut as drawn wire, pulling in two opposing directions without tearing. Cain’s presence burned hot and near, like a flame left too close to skin. Elias’s pull was steadier, distant but constant, like a tide that never stopped returning.
Neither demanded.
That was the problem.
Lyra dressed slowly, methodically, grounding herself in routine. Armor first. Boots. The blade at her side. She refused to rush, refused to let the tension dictate her pace.
By the time she stepped into the corridor, the stronghold was already awake.
Whispers followed her.
Not about the war.
About
