The door clicked shut behind Lyra, and for a heartbeat, the only sound in the room was the frantic thrumming of my own pulse. I didn't turn around. I didn't want to see the triumph I knew was etched into her perfect features, or the way the evening light caught the silver in her hair a constant, shimmering reminder of the wolf she had and the one I had lost.
I remained seated on the edge of my bed, my back straight, my hands folded neatly in my lap. I was a statue of composure, a mask of the "Little Moon Princess" I had once been, even as the girl underneath felt like she was evaporating into the shadows of the room.
“Well…” Lyra’s voice was a low, melodic purr that scraped across my nerves like a serrated blade. “Isn’t this tragic?”
She didn't wait for an invitation. She never di
