The soft scent of antiseptic and dried blood lingered heavily in the air as Lyra pushed open the door to the pack hospital room. Her fingers trembled slightly around the handle, but she gathered herself, stepping quietly inside.
The room was dim, only a single lamp casting a muted golden glow across the white walls. Kyson lay stretched on the bed, half-dressed — his chest bandaged tight, bruises blossoming across his ribs and arms like dark, angry flowers. His eyes were closed, his face pale against the pillow, but even in sleep he looked tense, like a coiled wire ready to snap.
Lyra swallowed hard. She hadn’t seen him in over a month. Not since the day he left for the battlefield with the others.
And in that time, things had changed.
She felt different. Stronger somehow. Her body had
