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“I was scared,” he continued, voice cracking. “Scared of becoming what he was. Of failing you. Oflosingyou because I couldn’t protect what I claimed.”

She stirred slightly, lashes fluttering. Her voice, when it came, was weak but dry with humor.

“Took you long enough.”

He let out a breath that sounded like a laugh and groan all at once. “No more running. No more hiding. You’re mine, Lyra—and I’m yours. I’m done denying it. It’s not instinct. It’s not a burden. It’sus.”

Her smile tilted, tired and crooked. “’Bout damn time.”

Then her smile faded, eyes going glassy again. “Don’t… don’t vanish on me this time. I swear, if I wake up and you’re gone…”

“You won’t,” he said quickly, leaning in. “I’m right here. And I’ll be here when you wake. I promise.”

He brushed his hand along her cheek, slow and reverent, then shifted his body to gather her gently into his arms. She was light—too light—and bruised, battered, but still buzzing faintly with magic.

He was naked from the shift, not that he cared.

Jace turned to his pack, voice steady but cold.

“Search the compound. Top to bottom. Secure every artifact, scroll, weapon. Find any of Ezra’s people who didn’t run. And bring them to me.”

Logan nodded, already moving, issuing orders with clipped efficiency.

“I’ll debrief the council myself tomorrow,” Jace said.

He looked down at Lyra, her curls sticking to his chest, her magic still buzzing under her skin like it wasn’t ready to rest just yet.

“But tonight, I’m taking her home.”

And with that, he carried her through the crumbling ruins, through smoke and shadow, into the woods that still whispered with danger—straight toward the only place that would ever matter again.

Wherever she was.

33

LYRA

Lyra woke to the sound of rain tapping against glass.

Soft. Rhythmic. Familiar.

The air smelled like pine and something deeper—warm and wild, like smoke clinging to skin, like home.

She didn’t know where she was at first.

But then she shifted, felt the weight of blankets over her, the press of a firm mattress beneath her hips, the subtle ache in her body from magic overspent—and the scent that wrapped around her like a second soul.

Jace.

She turned her head slowly.

He was sitting in the chair by the bed, elbows on his knees, gaze locked on her like she might vanish again if he blinked. He was dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans, but his eyes… they burned with something raw. Protective. Tender.

“Hey,” he said, voice husky.

“Hey,” she echoed, throat dry.

He stood and crossed the room in two long strides, crouching beside her bed like he was still trying to figure out if she was real.