Lyra lay on her bed, her mind restless and her body tense. She tried to close her eyes, hoping sleep would bring some escape from the overwhelming fear gnawing at her heart. But every time she drifted close, images of her missing son flashed in her mind, jolting her back to wakefulness.
The silence in her room was too loud, pressing down on her. She turned over, pulling the blanket tightly around her as if it could somehow shield her from the dread twisting inside. But nothing could ease the ache of not knowing where her son was—or if he was safe.
Lyra's thoughts drifted to Alaric, and anger bubbled up, keeping her awake. She didn't trust him—his intentions had become far too clear recently, his actions more bold. It was as though he was taunting her, toying with her mind, and now she couldn't shake the idea that he had something to do with her son's disappearance. But she didn't have any proof, and the thought alone felt too cruel to accept.
