Panic claws at my chest, but I can’t look back for Lyra—Thanewon’t let me. His grip is unyielding, his pace relentless as he leads me forward, as if he knows that if I stop—if I see her like that again—I won’t be able to keep going.
The tunnel narrows. The air cools. The walls become smoother, more structured—less like natural caves, more like something deliberately carved.
The creature behind us lets out a frustrated, bone-rattling screech as the tunnel tightens around it. Then—thank the gods—it slows.
Garrick glances over his shoulder, breathless. “I think it’s—”
A roar cuts him off. Violent. The sound vibrates in my chest.
Jarek curses. “It’s trying to force its way through!”
I don’t look back. We keep moving. The tunnel slopes steeper now, angling downward, forcing us deeper underground.
Thane calls out to those behind us, “The passage ahead widens!”
The passage opens suddenly—into a cavern. We stagger to a stop. The weight of the chase drops away.
But I can’t take any of it in. Garrick is lowering Lyra onto the stone floor and she isn’t moving.
My chest clenches, fear tightening like a vice around my ribs. Before Valen can reach her, before anyone can think, I’m already there.
“Lyra.” I drop to my knees beside her, my hands shaking as I reach for her.
She’s too still.
I press my fingers to her arm. Her shoulder. Her neck—searching, desperate.
Too cold.
Too limp.
I feel wetness under my fingertips. I lift my hand, and in the dim glow of the chamber, I see it—blood.
Her blood.
No. No, no, no!
I scream her name. My voice breaks. My vision blurs.
I don’t hear them. I don’t feel anything.
Just Lyra—and a future I can’t survive.
Something snaps inside me. A surge of warmth erupts in my chest, rushing outward, igniting like fire but feeling nothing like it. It’s not heat. It’s not flame. It’s light.
The grief wants to take me. I refuse.
Something inside me splits wide—pain, love, fury—pouring out.
A pulse of raw, shimmering energy bursts from within me, expanding outward like ripples in a still lake. The glow spills over my arms, spreading down my fingers, cascading like liquid gold and silver, but weightless—dancing like threads of starlight caught in an unseen current. The air hums with power, a quiet vibration that grows, gathers, spirals.
Valen steps forward, his voice urgent. “Amara—get back. Let me help her.”
I won’t. I can’t. I cling to Lyra’s still form, my breath coming in gasps. She’s my friend. My sister. I wouldn’t be here without her.
I press my hands to her chest, her arm—searching for anything.
But she’s too still.
