The first thing Lyra felt was cold stone beneath her palms. Her eyes snapped open to the dim light of a cavern ceiling, the echo of rushing water somewhere deep in the walls. Her lungs seized as memory slammed into her—the altar, the runes, the voice that had split her mind open.
She sat up too fast, her head spinning. The storm inside her was restless, sparks crackling under her skin like lightning trapped in a glass jar. Her breath came ragged, and for a moment she wondered if she had brought half the Shadowlands down on her head.
“You’re awake.”
The voice cut through the shadows. Darius emerged first, broad shoulders framed by the cavern entrance. His scarred face softened only slightly when he saw her stir. Behind him, Orion leaned against the wall, pale eyes unreadable, lips curled
