After breakfast, Lyra quietly retreated to the twin’s room. The moment she stepped inside, the tension in her shoulders released just slightly—this room was far from comforting, but at least it was still. Still and empty.
She curled up on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, eyes tracing the intricate carvings on the ceiling as the events of the morning echoed in her head.
Mate of the Alphas.
Future Luna.
She didn’t know what to do with those titles. They didn’t fit. They were foreign and heavy, like a crown placed on a servant’s head. Her fingers curled against her palm.
When her body gave in to the exhaustion gnawing at her bones, she let herself rest, not deeply, just enough to stop shaking.
A few hours later, a knock on the door stirred her awake.
“Miss?” a soft voice called,
