"Lyra."
She called my name softly, the syllable trailing off like a caress intended to soothe a wound.
I didn't want to hear it. I didn't want the salt of her voice in my ears. I pressed my palms against my eyes until starbursts of light flickered in the dark, but it was no use. My eyes were already flooding. I tilted my head back, staring at the ceiling and trying to swallow the lump in my throat, but all that came out was a sharp, pathetic sniffle.
"You call that just a formality?" I choked out. "How can you do this to me? You... you're a monster. Director."
There was no comfort in the silence that followed. Elara simply stood there, rooted to the spot. The atmosphere briefly stirred at the formal address but it was fleeting. It dissipated so quickly I wondered if I had imagined her flinch.
Unable to look at her for even a second longer, I glared at the floor. A tear I thought I had contained fell, hitting the polished marble with a loud, distinct plop.
