Lyra's POV
My pace quickened as I made my way back to the Infirmary. Each step rang out against the stone floor, creating an echo that seemed to mock my urgency. Behind me, the Omega struggled to match my stride, her labored breathing the only sound breaking the oppressive silence.
Benedict's voice wouldn't leave my head. His words circled endlessly, like vultures over carrion. That cruel smile. The deliberate way he'd drawn his finger across his wrist. The cold certainty in his tone when he'd told me to run or face death.
He believed he'd already won this war.
He expected me to shatter under the pressure, to flee like some wounded creature seeking shelter in the darkness.
How spectacularly wrong he was.
I stopped abruptly at the Infirmary entrance, my fingers wrapping around the door handle with white-knuckled intensity. The Omega's footsteps faltered behind me.
"Wait here."
"Luna, perhaps I should—"
"I said wait."
