Lyra's POV
I wandered the pack grounds that evening, the cool breeze brushing against my skin. It had been a long day—longer than most—and I needed a moment to breathe, to think. But my thoughts always seemed to circle back to him: Kellan. We hadn't spoken, not really, since everything happened. The boy who used to pull me out of the mud when we were kids had become a man who fought for me without hesitation. Yet here we were, strangers in so many ways.
I found him by the training field, sitting on the steps with his elbows resting on his knees. The golden hues of the setting sun cast a warm glow over his face, softening his sharp features. For a moment, I considered turning back.
But then he looked up.
"Lyra," he said softly, standing as if drawn by instinct.
"Kellan," I replied, offering a small smile.
His eyes scanned me, his brow furrowed. "Should you be walking around? You should be resting."
