The dimly lit corridors of the pack's infirmary buzzed with a sense of urgency. Healers moved with purpose, gathering herbs and remedies, their faces etched with determination and concern.
Hours seemed to stretch into eternity as I paced the infirmary’s corridors, the sound of my footsteps echoing like a relentless clock ticking down my sanity. Every passing minute felt like a lifetime as I waited for news on Lyra’s condition.
The rest of the pack had gathered outside, yet there was one face noticeably absent—Aiden’s. I had been told he had an urgent errand in a nearby pack and wasn’t returning anytime soon. Perhaps it was for the best. If he were here, I feared my anger might drive me to do something irreparable.
Lyra lay unconscious on a hospital bed, surrounded by the hum of medical machines and the steady beep of monitors. Her face, normally so full of life, was pale and still, a heartbreaking reminder of the attack's brutality. I clenched my fists, steeling myself against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm me.
Finally, Jacobs emerged, his face drawn and weary. He approached me with the kind of solemnity that made my heart sink.