By now, Lyra's body hung so close to the cauldron that she could almost feel the rim against her skin. Scalding droplets of oil spattered onto her, each one a searing sting. She strained with everything she had, pointing her toes downward until they found purchase on the ground beside the cauldron, barely keeping herself from sliding further. She couldn't spare a thought for how the heat was scorching through her boots.
Selene, still cradled in Fenris's arms, turned her head deliberately to look at Lyra. Her eyes glittered with triumph and malice. She didn't speak—just moved her lips, mouthing the words silently:
See? I win again.
Fenris set Selene down in a safe area and was about to turn back, to rush into the storage den for Lyra still suspended in midair, when her voice cut through from behind him—cold, final, absolute.
"Fenris. Don't bother. Take her and go. From this moment on, there's nothing between us anymore."
Fenris's feet froze mid-step. He stood rooted to the spot, turning to stare at her, his eyes filled with shock.