Silence flooded the room. Lyra collapsed back onto the bed, clutching the blanket to her chest. The sobs she'd been holding back finally broke free—wrenching, devastating, yet muffled because she didn't dare cry too loud, afraid of tearing her wounds open again. Tears soaked into the pillowcase, mixing with the blood that hadn't dried, bitter and hopeless.
Seven days passed before Lyra encountered Fenris again in the healer's den. Perhaps sensing that his favoritism had been too blatant, he'd made a point of bringing Selene with him, claiming he wanted her to offer a proper apology.
Selene pressed herself against Fenris's arm with practiced intimacy, her scent deliberately mingling with his in a display of closeness. Her tone was light and dismissive—not a trace of genuine remorse anywhere in her demeanor. "I'm so sorry, sister. That day was entirely my fault, and you suffered such terrible injuries because of it. You've always been so kind-hearted—surely you won't hold a grudge against your poor little sister."