LYRA
The silence in the room pressed against my skin like a weight I couldn't shake off.
Zeviar stood across from me, his back still to the window. The late afternoon light framed him in gold, sharp edges and dark shadows. He looked carved from stone—unmoving, unreadable.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
"So talk," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady even though my hands were trembling at my sides.
He turned slowly, his blue eyes locking onto mine. For a second, neither of us moved.
Then his scent hit me.
It rolled over me in a wave — woody and musky — something wild and clean like rain-soaked earth. My lungs pulled it in without permission, and my body reacted instantly. Heat bloomed low in my stomach, spreading upward, curling around my ribs.
I gripped the back of the neare
