The cold stone walls of the cell seemed to close in on Lyra, her breaths shallow and her body aching from the events of the day. Her cheek still burned from Alaric's slap, but the sting was nothing compared to the ache in her heart. She thought of her son, held somewhere in the grand halls above, and Mina, who was now his only protection.
Lyra ran her fingers over the damp stone floor, her thoughts racing. This couldn't be the end. She refused to let it be. She had endured too much—Kael's loss, the betrayal of Alaric, and now this imprisonment. Somewhere deep inside, her defiance sparked anew.
"I'll get out of here," she whispered to herself. "For my son."
The sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor, snapping her out of her thoughts. She straightened, her heart pounding as the shadow of a guard fell across the bars of her cell.
The iron door groaned open, and Alaric stepped inside. His presence was commanding, his face a mask of cold anger.
