Carla’s throat was dry, her breath stuck somewhere between a scream and a plea. She pressed her back to the cracked wall, her eyes wide as she watched Crimora crawl forward, her pale body painted by her own dim firelight. For the first time, Carla truly felt like she was being replaced—shoved aside, her place stolen.
Lyra leaned against the wall opposite, her golden eyes fixed on the scene with that infuriating smirk that never seemed to fade. But beneath the smirk was tension. Her arms were crossed under her breasts, nails digging crescents into her skin. She wanted to laugh at Carla’s jealousy, but she could feel her own simmering just as hot.
"You’re really going to let her?" Carla’s voice cracked, almost begging Kael to look at her.
Kael didn’t answer. His hand slid across Crimora’s
