LYRA’S POV
The morning sun hung low over Garrison Heights, casting long, pale streaks of gold through the floor-to-ceiling arched windows of the third-floor lecture hall.
I stood at the threshold of the classroom for a second, my knuckles white as I adjusted the strap of my heavy canvas bag over my shoulder. My body still thrummed with residual static from the library encounter. I hadn't slept a wink after leaving the history stacks yesterday, and the faint scent of Gabriel’s skin—crisp, warm, and distinctly lethal seemed permanently burned into my memory.
I took a slow, quiet breath, forcing my shoulders back. Focus, Lyra. It's just a class.
I scanned the multi-tiered room, making a straight line toward my usual desk on the far left of the third row. I pulled out my notebook, settling
