Page 19

LYRA

T he basket dangled from Lyra’s elbow, the dried lavender bunches inside bobbing gently with each step. The further she got from the edge of town, the quieter it became—too quiet. Even the wind held its breath.

The festival prep had every shop in Celestial Pines buzzing, and Calla had been juggling orders like a potion-wielding octopus. So when she asked Lyra to retrieve moon thistle and whisperroot from the herb grove just off the old path by the Whispering Woods , Lyra didn’t hesitate.

She needed the air.

She needed the distance.

Mostly, she needed something to do that didn’t involve thinking about Jace Montgomery and the mess of feelings still lodged like a spell shard in her chest.

Milo padded silently beside her, his black fur bristling more with each passing yard.

“You’re twitchy,” Lyra said without looking at him.

“I’m intuitive, ” Milo replied, voice flat. “There’s a difference.”

Lyra smirked, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “It’s just the woods.”

“It’s not just the woods. It’s the Whispering Woods , which literally earned that name because spirits murmur warnings through the trees. And you’re ignoring them.”

“I can’t hear anything.”

“Exactly,” he said. “That’s the problem. This place is never silent. And it’s never still.”

Lyra paused, letting her magic hum lightly through her fingers. The air was… wrong. Heavy. Like the charge before a storm or the pause before something big and bad decided to stretch its claws.

“I don’t like it,” Milo whispered. “Let’s go back. Calla can get her own herbs.”

Lyra rolled her eyes. “She’s elbow-deep in a batch of shimmerwine jam and you know it. We’re five minutes from the grove.”

Milo’s tail flicked, annoyed. “This is exactly how horror stories start.”

“And yet,” she said, “here I am, still main character material.”

“I’m going on record now. If something eats you, I told you so.”

She laughed and kept walking.

The path narrowed, shifting from worn cobblestone to moss-covered dirt. Branches hung lower, shadows longer. The whisperroot always bloomed just before the treeline thickened, on the edge where the Veil flickered.

She crouched to snip a cluster of silvery stalks, stuffing them into her pouch. “See? Easy peasy.”

That’s when it hit.

A gust of air—not wind. Not natural.

Magic.

Dark, sharp, slicing through the stillness.

“Lyra—!” Milo yowled.

But she didn’t have time to move.

A blast of energy slammed into the earth inches from her boots, sending her flying back into the grass. Her breath left her in a rush. Her vision danced with sparks.

Milo hissed and darted to her side.

From the shadows, the air shifted .

Something watched.

Something surged.

Another pulse but this one hotter, wilder and it crackled toward her. She raised her hands instinctively, her own magic flaring up in defense.

But it didn’t land.

Because suddenly, he was there.

Jace .

A wall of heat and muscle and growling fury as he threw himself between her and the blast. The magic hit him dead-on, rippling off his skin in a shield of amber light that shimmered like a promise.

“Stay behind me,” he barked.

Lyra could barely breathe.

He’d wrapped an arm across her shoulders, pulling her tight against him, his chest heaving, his eyes glowing that eerie storm-gray she’d only seen when his wolf peeked through.

“You’re bleeding,” she whispered.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re—!”

“ I said I’m fine. ”

With a snarl that made the trees shudder, he turned toward the source of the attack.

The darkness pulsed again—once, then twice—and vanished like a thread cut loose from the weave.

Gone.

Jace stood tense for several heartbeats longer, then slowly lowered his arms. His breath came heavy. Controlled.

Only then did he look down at her.

“Are you hurt?”

“I—I’m okay,” she said, voice barely a whisper.

“You shouldn’t have come this far alone.”

“I wasn’t alone,” she muttered. “I had Milo.”

Milo huffed. “For the record, I voted for turning back.”

Jace crouched beside her, cupping her face gently. His thumb brushed her cheekbone, eyes dark and unreadable.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he said softly.

Lyra blinked. “You… you found me.”

“I felt it. The moment the wards buckled. I knew it was you.”

Their eyes met.

And something shifted.

Something soft. Something real.

“You always show up,” she said.

He pulled back slightly, the heat of his body still wrapped around her like armor. His voice, when he spoke, was clipped. Guarded.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said, avoiding her eyes. “Not this close to the woods. Not right now.”

Lyra blinked, her pulse still roaring in her ears. “That’s it?”

He stood, brushing dirt from his palms, gaze fixed somewhere over her shoulder. “We need to get back. I don’t like what’s prowling out here.”

She rose slowly, fury beginning to thaw the fear in her chest. “You just saved me—again—and now you’re back to grunting out orders like none of it meant anything?”

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

She stepped into his space, heart pounding. “You can’t keep doing this. Showing up like some dark knight, before retreating behind your walls.”

“I’m doing my job.”

“No,” she snapped. “You’re hiding. And I am done letting you push me away like I’m the problem.”

His eyes flicked to hers—brief, sharp—but the emotion behind them was caged tight.

She exhaled, chest rising and falling. “Something’s happening here, Jace. Between us. You feel it. I know you do.”

He didn’t answer.

“Then why won’t you just say it?” she asked, voice breaking.

He looked away.

And that silence felt like the cruelest kind of answer.

Lyra swallowed hard, her throat thick.

She stepped back, fists clenched. “Fine. Don’t say it. But don’t expect me to pretend I didn’t notice.”

Then she turned and started down the path without waiting for him.

But Jace didn’t let her out of his sight.

“Lyra… wait.”