Page 34

LYRA

T he morning light broke gently across the windows, streaking golden warmth through Jace’s bedroom. Everything felt impossibly still, wrapped in a hush that reminded her of snowfall. The air held the weight of something that had shifted —a quiet, sacred kind of aftermath.

Lyra blinked against the light and reached for the warmth beside her.

Still there.

She smiled.

Jace lay on his stomach, one arm curled beneath the pillow, the other draped loosely across the sheets where she’d been. His dark hair was tousled, lips slightly parted, breath slow and even. The muscles in his back rose and fell, a map of old scars and fresh scratches from her .

Her fingers skimmed down the curve of his spine.

He didn’t stir.

She slipped out of bed quietly, bare feet brushing cool wood as she padded toward the bathroom. Her body ached in the best possible way—sated and stretched, still tingling in places he’d touched.

She reached for a robe hanging on the hook near the vanity, but as her reflection caught in the mirror, she froze.

The markings along her ribs glowed faintly.

Not scars.

Not bruises.

Runes.

Etched in delicate script, curling over her side in a pattern she didn’t recognize—but felt like hers. Protective magic pulsed from them, ancient and alive, like they’d always been there but needed something— someone —to awaken them.

“Holy stars,” she whispered.

Her magic flickered at her fingertips instinctively, reaching toward the marks as if trying to communicate.

They warmed under her touch.

Not painful. Not foreign. Just… there.

And powerful.

More than anything she’d ever conjured intentionally.

She stared at herself, heart pounding.

“Lyra?”

She startled.

Jace stood in the doorway, shirtless, sleep still dusting his features. His voice was low, scratchy—concerned.

“You okay?”

She turned toward him slowly. “You tell me.”

He frowned, stepping forward. Then his eyes tracked lower, catching sight of the runes along her skin. His jaw tightened. “Those weren’t there before.”

“I know.”

“You cast them?”

She shook her head. “Not on purpose.”

He stepped closer, gently brushing his knuckles against her waist, where the runes still glowed faintly beneath her skin. “These are protection seals. Old ones. Bound to your life force. And they’re stable.”

“Stable?” she echoed. “I didn’t even try.”

He met her gaze, voice reverent. “That’s the thing about chaos magic—it doesn’t always wait for permission. Sometimes it just knows .”

She swallowed. “You think… last night, I…?”

“You did this in your sleep, Lyra.”

His thumb brushed a swirl of script along her hipbone. “You protected yourself . And me. I felt them wake up around us when I was in between sleep.”

She breathed in, then out. “So what does that mean?”

“It means you’re stronger than you think.”

She blinked back sudden emotion.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple, then her cheek, and finally the corner of her mouth. “And it means you’re not just some chaos witch with a little mischief in her blood.”

Her lips quirked, amused despite the swirl of emotions in her chest. “That’s blasphemy. I live for mischief.”

“I know.” He smiled. “But I think you were meant for more than even you realize.”

She looked back at the mirror, touching the glowing marks again. “I don’t want to be a weapon.”

“You’re not,” he said. “You’re a force.”

She turned to face him fully. “And you’re not scared of that anymore?”

“I’m not scared of you ,” he said, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I never was. I was scared of failing you. But I’m done letting fear dictate how I love you.”

Her heart clenched.

He said it so easily now, love —like he finally understood that love wasn’t weakness.

It was everything .

She kissed him, slow and soft, curling her fingers into the hem of his shirt.

And for once she felt whole. Not because he was there to fix her.

But because he saw her, all of her —and stayed anyway.