Lyra’s fingernails weren't just scratching me; they were burrowing.
"You... you promised... sanctuary!" she screamed, her voice a jagged, airless whistling.
Her weight was terrifyingly light, like a bundle of dry sticks, but her grip was fueled by a hysterical, half-hollowed adrenaline. I felt my leather jacket tear, then my skin. The sting of her claws was a welcome distraction from the internal fire, but the look in her eyes—the way the gray film over her pupils reflected my own monstrous face—was unbearable.
"Lyra, stop! I had to... Silas was—"
"Finn's ring!" she shrieked, her hand catching in my hair, pulling my head back with a violent jerk. She pointed a trembling, bone-white finger at the empty air. "We were supposed to... after the hunt... you ate his future, Luna! And you left
