Lyra's POV
The next morning?
He didn’t get out of bed.
Didn’t reach for me. Didn’t check his phone. Didn’t bark an order or ask if the house was still standing.
He just laid there, one arm thrown over his forehead, the other resting across his stomach, like something inside him had gone offline. Not dead. Just corrupted. Like the file that used to be Leo Weston was glitching, and the update hadn’t come through.
I rolled onto my side, pulling the sheet with me, even though modesty was such a joke at this point it should’ve had its own sitcom.
His eyes were open. Blank. No storm, no calculation. Just that look people have when they stare at nothing for too long and start to see ghosts in the wallpaper.
“You’re quiet,” I said, voice still hoarse from the night before. Still sore from t
