Lyra's POV
The healer's fingers worked carefully along my arm as she guided me upright. Fire burned through my throat where the glass had torn into flesh, and I felt the sticky warmth of blood continuing to seep past the pressure she maintained. The cloth pressed against my neck grew heavy with what I had risked.
Every drop was worth it.
My gaze dropped to Daphne. She huddled against the broken tiles like a wounded animal, cradling her destroyed hand against her ribs. Black streaks of mascara carved ugly paths down her cheeks. She swayed back and forth, her mouth forming words that could have been pleas or threats. Impossible to know which.
