Lyra didn’t announce the change.
She let it happen.
That was the first rule of going dark: nothing that looked like a decision could feel intentional. Intent drew attention. Attention got people killed.
So she stopped appearing in the yard.
Stopped standing beside Tyler during patrol briefings.
Stopped correcting whispers when they bent her name into something sharper.
The pack noticed.
They always did.
By the third day, the murmurs had shape.
“She’s gone quiet.”
“She promised protection and failed.”
“Rook and Althea died for nothing.”
Lyra heard it all.
She made sure of that.
She walked the long corridors at odd hours. Sat in corners where voices didn’t expect to be overheard. Let bitterness settle without interruption.
Mara hated it.
“You’re letting them tear you apart,”
