The sky had dipped into a shade of deep lavender by the time Maelin came to fetch her.
Lyra was sitting on the windowsill, wrapped in the blanket Myla had given her, watching the horizon bleed into darkness. The last light danced on the glass, and her thoughts had drifted too far—too long—until a soft knock snapped her back.
Maelin stepped inside with a kind smile, her braided hair pinned up neatly as always. “Dinner’s ready,” she said gently. “Alpha Maverick asked for you.”
Lyra blinked. “He… asked for me?”
Maelin nodded, walking closer. “Yes. He wanted to know how your training’s going. Said you shouldn’t miss meals.”
Her stomach twisted at the word training, a faint soreness crawling back into her arms and legs just at the memory of Kyson’s cold voice on the field.
She followed Ma
