"Don't." I closed my eyes. Tears slid down silently, soaking into the healing linens. "Let it go."
In the treatment chamber, the harsh glow of spelled crystals was blinding.
The cold clatter of healer's instruments rang sharp and clear against stone trays.
Every movement felt like a piece of my soul being carved away.
I bit down on my lip until I tasted copper, refusing to let myself cry out. My wolf howled somewhere deep inside me, grieving what we were losing.
A week later, afternoon sunlight filtered through the gauze curtains of the recovery wing, falling across my bed in pale golden stripes.
I set down my scrying mirror. The surface still showed Aurora's latest image-sending to the pack. In the vision, Fenris was crouched before her in the gardens, fastening the clasps of her ceremonial boots. They were both laughing, carefree, their wolves clearly at ease with each other.
I darkened the mirror with a touch, my face blank. As if I'd seen nothing at all.
"Lyra."
The heavy door swung open.
Fenris strode in, something like alarm flickering across his sharp features. His nostrils flared, scenting the room.
"How are you feeling?"