"Are you certain?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper, though I know the answer. Damian doesn't speak unless it's necessary. His silence is always telling.
His dark eyes narrow, locking with mine. "We can't afford to rest now, Lyra. The shadows are still watching, and they're waiting for us to falter."
I don't need him to explain. I feel it too, in the pit of my stomach—the same cold weight of dread that has been gnawing at me ever since the dust settled after the battle with Marcus. But what he doesn’t know is that the shadows aren't just out there—they're creeping closer, infiltrating the places we thought were safe.
"Then what do you suggest?" I ask though the answer is the same as it’s always been. We fight. We fight until there's nothing left.
Damian's jaw clenches, his posture taut
