The heavy silence that followed Marcus's departure clung to the air, thick and oppressive. Lyra's heart pounded in her chest, her skin still tingling from the electric energy that had surged through her when Marcus had grabbed her wrist. She had felt it—the raw, untamed power deep inside her, as if Marcus's touch had awoken something she didn't fully understand.
Kael stood a few paces away, his eyes scanning the darkened room, every muscle in his body tense as if he expected Marcus to reappear at any moment. His jaw was clenched, and his knuckles were white around the hilt of his blade, which he had yet to sheath.
Lyra's legs felt weak, and she lowered herself onto a nearby stone bench, her breathing still uneven. She could sense the tension in Kael, feel his anger simmering just beneath the surface. The protective wall he had built around himself was cracking, and she wasn't sure what would happen when it finally crumbled.
