Lyra moved slower than usual, her limbs heavy, each breath shallow, a testament to the unseen battle raging within her. Her lower stomach throbbed with a dull, persistent ache, cramps digging like insistent claws with every focused movement. Still, she pushed through, jaw clenched, a stubborn refusal to falter etched on her face.
Kyson and Xander stood near the edge of the field, their formidable presences a quiet, watchful force, observing with their usual piercing sharpness.
Xander’s arms were crossed over his broad chest, his brows furrowed just slightly, his keen eyes tracking her every step, every subtle hesitation. He noticed the slight grimace that flashed across her face, quickly masked.
“She’s off. Something’s wrong, Kyson. Her usual fluidity isn’t there. She’s clenching her
