Vale didn’t hesitate. He pointed straight at me.
“Thank God it’s not her. Anything’s better than that snake, Lyra.”
A laugh slipped out of me—soft, broken. Not because it was funny. Because if I didn’t laugh, I’d scream.
I started clapping. Slow. Deliberate. The sound cut through the noise, turning heads.
“Congratulations,” I said calmly.
Magnus stiffened when he saw me. His eyes widened.
“Lyra… I—”
“Don’t,” I cut in. “I’m not here to ruin your celebration. I was passing through. Since you’re all gathered, I’ll make it quick.”
I stepped forward.
“I’m leaving.”
Silence fell over the hall.
Then Magnus’ face hardened.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped.
Right on cue, Elara began to cry.
“Oh my God,” she sobbed. “Lyra, I’m so sorry. Please don’t go because of me. I never wanted this to hurt you.”
I stared at her. She couldn’t have sounded more fake if she tried.
Magnus grabbed my arm, trying to pull me away. I shoved him back hard enough that he stumbled.
“Don’t put your filthy hands on me,” I hissed.
His jaw clenched. “We’re talking somewhere private.”
Before he could move, Ian and Vale rushed me. Small fists. Hard hits. Ten-year-old rage sharpened into weapons.