Lyra reached the northern route before the second bell finished ringing.
The smell hit her first.
Iron. Smoke. Wet stone.
The ravine was narrow and steep, torchlight throwing broken shadows across bodies that hadn’t been there the last time she’d stood on this path. Wolves moved with controlled urgency, too quiet, too focused. This wasn’t chaos.
This was the aftermath.
Tyler stood near the edge, cloak darkened at the hem. Blood streaked his forearm, already drying. Not his.
He turned the moment he sensed her.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said.
Lyra ignored that and scanned him instead. His stance. His breathing. The way his shoulders were set, like he was holding something in place by will alone.
“You’re hurt,” she said.
“No,” Tyler replied. “They are.”
Three bodies lay further d
