GABRIEL’S POV
The silence of the library’s historical archives was usually absolute, a thick blanket of dust and dead centuries that offered me a rare moment to breathe. But the second Lyra entered the building, that silence shattered.
I didn't need to see her walk through the massive oak doors to know she was here. My wolf surged against my ribs before I even heard the soft click of her worn sneakers on the hardwood. Her scent hit me first—that distinct, agonizing mixture of cheap diner coffee from her night shifts, crisp Pacific ocean air, and the faint, sweet warmth of vanilla that was entirely her own. It cut right through the stale paper and leather polish of the back stacks, suffocating every other sensation I possessed.
I stood behind the shadows of the ninth-century territorial
