Lyra's POV
I sat at the end of the cell, my knees hugged tightly to my chest. The rough stone walls of the prison seemed to close in around me, the weight of the day pressing down on my chest like an iron fist. The echoes of the laborers' anger still rang in my ears, their faces twisted in fury, their voices laced with mockery. It wasn’t just the physical pain that bothered me—no, it was the way they looked at me, as if I were nothing more than a broken tool to be used and discarded.
I rubbed my chest, the ache sharp, and my mind wandered back to the prison yard. The way the guards barked orders, the way I was treated like a lesser being. Even my uncle’s cruelty seemed kinder compared to the torment of being here, in this hellhole.
Just when I thought I might c***k under the weight of i
