Lyra's POV
The dungeons had stolen something from me. Not just my strength, but something deeper that I couldn't quite identify.
We ascended the stairs without speaking. Every step felt like a burden. My legs moved sluggishly beneath me. My arms ached from hours of holding bowls and wringing out cloths. The sharp scent of wolfsbane had embedded itself into my skin, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth and making my eyes water slightly.
Mia followed behind me, her footsteps barely audible on the stone steps. She moved with deliberate care, as if she didn't want to disturb whatever fragile thoughts remained in my head.
When we finally reached my chambers, I pushed the door open and collapsed onto my bed without ceremony. I had no energy left for pretense or grace. The mattress welcomed my exhausted body as I sank into its softness.
