Lyra's POV
My eyebrows drew together. "About what exactly?"
He cocked his head to one side, examining my face like my answer carried more weight than it should. "You truly don't remember me?"
The question felt off somehow. Not painful, just out of place, like it belonged to someone else entirely. My gaze wandered beyond him before I could control it, settling on my father as he stood with the elders. They were collecting their belongings and speaking in hushed, weary tones. He was staring at us.
Something between bewilderment and shock crossed his features, as if he hadn't anticipated looking up to find me in conversation with anyone, especially someone like this.
Bianca Moretti lingered nearby. The instant I caught sight of her face, my stomach clenched. Her eyes held a razor-sharp quality that made my flesh crawl. The kind that preceded violence.
I shifted my attention back to the young man before me.
"Should I remember you?"
