The cold returned with the dawn, and it brought a terrifying clarity with it.
Lyra sat on the edge of the mossy bed, her breath coming in white plumes that vanished into the dim light of the hut. It wasn't the cold of the mountain winter; it was a deep, crystalline ice that started in the marrow of her bones and radiated outward. The silver mark at her throat was pulsing with a frantic, rhythmic light, visible even through the thick furs she had wrapped around herself.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the world through Ignis’s perspective—vast, scorched, and full of enemies. The connection was like a raw nerve, exposed and screaming.
"It’s happening again," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Valerius was across the room, kneeling by the small hearth. He was bare to the wai
