She snorts. “Sure. And I’m a demure, quiet noblewoman who faints at the sight of blood.”
I glare. “Ly—”
“You miss him.”
The words land like a blade—quiet, unflinching, and right between the ribs.
I stiffen.
She grins. “You do.”
I don’t deny it. But I don’t admit it either.
Lyra leans back, stretching, smirking. “Hmm . . . because you’ve been off all day. And let’s be honest, Mara—Thane has left before. And you’ve never been this distracted.” She watches me. “It’s okay to miss him, you know.”
I open my mouth, but I don’t have an argument. Because she’s right. Because this is different. I scowl at her.
The smell of the drifting fire smoke from wielders training catches in my throat like something I can’t swallow down. I run a hand through my sweat-damp hair, exhaling sharply.
“It’s not like that.”
Lyra inclines her head towards me. “Then tell me what it is.”
I grit my teeth. “I don’t know. It’s different.”
And that’s the worst part. Because I do know what changed. The bond. Feeling it. Letting it in. Gods, I just didn’t think it would do this.
My mind keeps straying to the way he looked at me before he left—the way he hesitated, like he wanted to say something more.
It’s like I’ve been holding my breath since he left—and now I don’t know how to exhale.
The bond didn’t just tether us. It branded me. And now every step he takes away, I feel like something’s being torn loose.
I hate it.
I hate that I miss him. I hate that Lyra is right. And I hate that this bond is real.
I don’t want toneedhim like this.
The barracks are quiet, most of the soldiers either asleep or still unwinding from training. The scent of worn leather, steel, and burning torches lingers in the warm night air. Lyra is sitting cross-legged on her bunk below me, sharpening one of her daggers, the steady scrape of metal against stone filling the space between us.
I should be resting. But instead, I lie in my bunk, staring at the ceiling, my arms crossed over my stomach, my thoughts refusing to let me go.
“You’re still thinking about him.”
I exhale sharply. “Shut up, Lyra.”
She grins. I can hear her flipping the dagger in her palm. “I’d love to. But you’re practically screaming it. I canfeelit.”
I roll onto my side, looking down at her. “Idon’t even know what I’m thinking.”
She tilts her head, finally looking up at me. “Then say it out loud.”
I hesitate. My throat tightens. Because if I say it, then it’s real. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment.
“I’m scared,” I whisper.
Her expression shifts, softens just slightly. “Of what?”
