Lyra felt it before she understood the feeling. Shame had a weight to it. It pressed down on her ribs, crawled under her skin, made her want to fold inward and disappear. She had lived with it so long that it had become an unwanted companion. That weight had quietly lifted during her time out of physical shackles, so much so that she’d nearly forgotten.
But this was sharper.
This was public and playing out in front of too many eyes.
Merrow’s voice carried easily across the arena, every word shaped to reach the highest tier, every pause deliberate. He was speaking to the crowd, to the spectacle, to his own ego.
But he was also speaking to Kade. And to her. He made his intention clear.
Lyra sat rigid in her place on the dais, hands locked together so tightly her knuckles ached. The sun
