Lyra lifted her gaze and regarded her with quiet calm. Her eyes were like still water, utterly devoid of ripples. She didn't respond. Didn't even slow her pace. She simply turned and walked back to her recovery chamber, leaving the two of them standing in the corridor.
Selene's expression crumpled instantly. She turned to Fenris with wounded eyes, her lashes already glistening with unshed tears. "Fenris, does she... does she still hate me?"
Fenris watched Lyra's retreating figure in silence, something distant flickering in his dark gaze. "She doesn't," he said with certainty. "She's always been soft-hearted. She never holds grudges for long."
But when they reached her chamber and pushed open the heavy wooden door, they found Lyra mid-motion—her hand raised, dropping a familiar memory-crystal into the waste basket beside her bed.
Fenris's pupils contracted sharply, his wolf stirring beneath his skin. He strode forward, disbelief sharpening his voice. "Lyra, what are you doing?!"