Fenris quickly pulled a small box from his coat and opened it. Inside lay the silver bracelet, restored. He set the box on the edge of the bed, his tone measured: "When she was cutting you, the dagger slipped and cut her palm too. She bled quite a bit. I've ordered her confined to her chambers—no leaving the den, no access to anything sharp. Lyra, that's enough. Don't push this so far that you ruin the bond between sisters completely."
Lyra's gaze fell on the repaired bracelet. Then it drifted slowly to Fenris's face—to the mask of false concern he wore. A bitter, broken smile twisted her lips, tugging at her wounds until her whole body trembled with pain. "Fenris. Do you remember what you used to say? That you'd protect me forever. That you'd never let anything hurt me."
Something dimmed in Fenris's eyes, as if the words had stirred some distant memory. His lips parted, like he wanted to say something.
But before he could speak, Lyra suddenly sat bolt upright. She gathered every ounce of strength left in her body and slapped him across the face with everything she had. The sound cracked through the quiet room like a gunshot.