LYRA
The ceiling felt wrong. Not the familiar, worn plaster I'd grown accustomed to, but something starkly white and clean. No weight of ancient stone, no oppressive presence seeping through the walls.
I sat up, and a voice cut through the silence. "Good morning."
I froze. That voice–full, warm, and laced with a familiar smugness– it wasn't the faint pulse I’d been desperately searching for over the past three days. It was Sky, whole and present, and apparently quite pleased with herself.
"You're back. Finally," I managed to say.
"I never left," she replied, a beat of silence following. "I was becoming magnificent. There's a difference."
A choked laugh escaped me. "You're impossible."
"You say that like it's a complaint," she mused, her voice tinged with curiosity as she took in the
