Guilt settles heavy in my gut.
God, I fucking hate the Outerlands.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LYRA’S POV
The next few days blur together, one grinding into the next before I’ve even caught my breath. Between the daily errands around camp, dragon alarm bells, talking to anyone who has updates from the Citadel, flying with Lucien, fire training with Reya, and now teaching, there isn’t a single hour left untouched.
By the time the weekend rolls around, a familiar itch has started to build beneath my skin, probably stress. Definitely exhaustion. Either way I don’t even hear Ezzy and Neeve when they leave for bread baking.
“You know, I actually wish you’d resume blasting me with fire in the mornings,” I mutter to Ahria as she watches me fumble, rushing to get ready from the comfort of Talen’s flight jacket, her metallic green scales catching the bright strips of morning sunlight spilling through the tent flap.
Shit. I’m so late.
Wood creaks beneath me as I drop onto the bed and shove my boots on. I’m so strung out I'm hardly sleeping and for a second, I think about pulling the blanket back over my head. Stealing ten more minutes of rest.
But I don’t give myself the luxury.
Not when Ahria is watching. Not when I have a bond to earn. Not when every hour I lose is another hour Serrane stays breathing.
I have less than two months to become someone who can survive the Blood Moon—and I can’t afford to fall apart before I even get there.
Plus, who am I kidding? If I lie back down, I won’t get any rest. Not with the Letter-threader hidden beneath me. I haven’t opened it since Ezzy woke. I can’t. But that hasn’t stopped me from wondering if Talen has written.
“Ready?” I ask the pocket-sized dragon beside me. Ahria only responds with what I’m pretty sure is the dragon equivalent of a brow raise before launching into the air and slipping out through the tent flap. “I guess that’s a yes, then,” I mutter, hurrying after her.
The comforting smell of warm bread drifts through the air as I enter the Food Tent. Neeve and Ezzy are already hard at work, the clang of tins echoing through the space as they load another batch into the already lit oven.
Pausing at the entrance, I hesitate as Neeve shuts the oven door, her long braid swaying down her back with the motion. When I finally told her the truth about where I grew up, about being an Outerlander, she was more supportive than I deserved. More understanding, too. But the guilt still sits heavy in my chest.
“Hey, Lyra.” Catching sight of me, she waves me over before brushing sweat and flour from her forehead with the back of her wrist. “Sorry I didn’t wake you,” she adds, as I step up to the table across from her. “I crashed with Darren last night. He got back late and was pretty rattled by an evac that went wrong.”
“What happened? Is everyone okay?” I ask, my nerves catching on the question as I drop my pack beside the table and turn to help Ezzy, who’s standing beside me loading more tins.
My first thought is Talen, quickly followed by the fear that Bren might be getting caught up in all of this too.
“Another Outerlander run-in followed by Serrane's black-eyed scouts.” Neeve’s jaw stiffens. “The mum and son made it here, but they lost the dad. I don’t think they’ve eaten since they arrived, so I’m going to take these over to them now.” She starts loading fresh rolls into a small basket, only to pause on the last one and glance back at the oven. “Damn. There’s a final batch that needs to come out.”
“Go,” I tell her. “Ezzy and I can finish up here. Isn’t that right, Ezzy?” Playfully, I nudge her with my elbow and wait for some kind of reaction, but she only nods and keeps her eyes fixed on the tins.
Across from me, Neeve catches the disappointment I don’t quite manage to hide and gives me the samebe-patientsmile she’s been giving me all week ever since Ezzy woke before picking up the basket.
“They only need another ten minutes.” She states as she starts for the exit. “I’ll meet up with you in the Briefing Tentfor your next teaching session. That corset analogy for unknotting my Threads was so helpful and I’m so excited to learn more about Mirroring and Loomreading.”
The enthusiasm in her voice does nothing to settle the spike in my pulse at the wordteaching. I’m honestly surprised anyone came back after the disaster of that first session, but Magda stays now, arms folded at the back of the tent, making sure no one so much as thinks about leaving.
“Yeah. Me too. Can’t wait.” I mumble.
At least I don’t have to feel guilty about that lie, because Neeve catches the sarcasm instantly, rolling her eyes at me with a friendly shake of her head before she leaves.
Ezzy and I spend the rest of the baking mostly in silence, working side by side while Ahria keeps herself busy nosing through the wooden crates I’ve hidden lunch sausages under. I’m trying to give Ezzy the time and space Neeve says she needs, but the quiet stretches so long that every now and then, I try something small.
“Looks like a dragon,” I joke as she drops a lump of dough into one of the tins for tomorrow’s batch, one side sticking up higher than the other.
She doesn't laugh, only presses the ridge flat with the heel of her palm until it’s shaped like a normal loaf again, and with it goes the foolish little hope I’d let myself cling to—that maybe she could finally begin to forgive me.
My mouth opens to try again... but then closes.
