Crane is imprisoned in the deepest cell, guarded around the clock, being interrogated about Haven’s Heart’s remaining black sites and conspirators. He’s revealed more than a dozen locations where Voss’s weapons programs continued after official shutdown, each one a potential nightmare waiting to be uncovered.
And Lyra hasn’t stopped working since we escaped the explosion.
I find her in the healing den, working on one of the former prisoners—a young Storm Eagle who was Broken for six months. The reversal restored his natural form, but the psychological trauma requires careful, ongoing treatment.
“You need rest,” I say quietly from the doorway.
“He has nightmares,” Lyra responds without looking up, her healing light gentle on the eagle’s temples. “Every time he sleeps, he’s back in that cage, feeling his body tear itself apart. I’m helping him process the memories, separate them from present reality.”
“You’ve been doing that for eight hours straight.”
“These people suffered for months. I can handle a few sleepless nights.” But her hands tremble slightly, betraying exhaustion she won’t acknowledge.
I approach, placing my hands on her shoulders. “You’ve saved twenty-seven people. Destroyed Crane’s work. Given them all a second chance at life. You’re allowed to rest.”
Through our bond, I feel her exhaustion warring with her healer’s compulsion to help everyone immediately. But she also feels my concern, my worry that she’s pushing too hard, depleting reserves that haven’t fully recovered from the neural interface.
“Okay,” she finally agrees. “Let me just finish this session, then I’ll take a break.”
I stay with her, watching as she guides the young eagle through meditation techniques, teaching him to recognize trauma responses versus actual threats. Her skill is extraordinary—not just the magic, but the psychological understanding, the patience, the genuine compassion that makes each patient feel seen and valued.
This is who she is at her core. A healer who can’t rest while others suffer.
And I love her for it, even as it terrifies me that she’ll burn herself out trying to save everyone.
When the session ends and the eagle is sleeping peacefully, Lyra sways on her feet. I catch her immediately, sweeping her into my arms despite her weak protests.
“I can walk?—”
“You can barely stand. I’m carrying you to our quarters, you’re eating something substantial, and then you’re sleeping for at least six hours.” I start walking, ignoring her halfhearted struggles.
“Bossy Mountain Cat,” she mutters, but she’s already relaxing against my chest.
“Stubborn Storm Eagle,” I counter, and feel her smile against my shoulder.
Our quarters are in the eastern wing—the same rooms we’ve been using since the trial, now unofficially recognized as ours by the entire clan. The carved leopard I made for her sits prominently on the shelf, and she’s added her own touches: healing crystals arranged by the window, medical texts stacked neatly, her Storm Eagle cloak hanging beside my Mountain Cat furs.
It looks like home. Our home.
I settle her on the bed and bring food from the warming pot—rich stew with meat and root vegetables, bread still warm from the ovens, tea brewed with strengthening herbs. She eats mechanically at first, then with genuine hunger as her body reminds her how depleted she is.
“Better?” I ask when she’s finished.
“Much.” She sets the bowl aside. “You’re worried about something. Not just my exhaustion. What is it?”
I should have known I couldn’t hide anything from her, especially now that our bond is so strong. “The interrogations. Crane’s been talking about more than just black sites.”
“What else?”
“He claims there are others like him. Scientists who escaped when Voss’s programs were shut down, who took research and equipment with them. He says we only found one laboratory, but there are at least three more operating in remote locations.” I sitbeside her, taking her hand. “The integration council is planning expeditions to locate and neutralize them.”
“And they want us involved.”
“Keira thinks we’re uniquely qualified. We understand Crane’s methodology, we’ve survived his worst, and...” I pause, uncertain how to phrase this delicately. “Our bond represents successful evolution. Proof that transformation doesn’t require force. Some council members think that makes us valuable for convincing future victims that reversal is possible.”
Lyra is quiet for a long moment, processing. “They want us to be symbols. Representatives of healthy integration versus forced chimera creation.”
“Yes. But it would mean more missions, more danger, more time away from establishing our own life together.” I cup her face gently. “I told Keira we’d discuss it. That the decision has to be mutual.”
