The pack-guards fell silent for a beat. In the end, they recognized which way the wind was blowing. They moved quickly, flanking Lyra and seizing her arms, forcing her down onto the cushioned seat and pinning her there.
Lyra watched the scene unfold before her. Then, suddenly, she laughed—a raw, broken sound, hoarse and desolate. Fresh tears mingled with the ones that hadn't yet dried, rolling down her cheeks. "So everyone knew. Everyone knew that in Fenris's heart, you're the one who matters most, Selene. I was the only fool. The only one still clinging to some pathetic fantasy, telling myself that his care for you was just... for my sake."
That pitiful delusion hadn't even finished crumbling when Selene turned and walked to the carved wooden table. She picked up a ceremonial dagger meant for ritual offerings. The blade cleared its sheath with a flash of cold light, and she approached Lyra step by step, her eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction.
Shhk—