Lyra and Rowan were still basking in the serenity of the moment, a rare calm settling over them, when the sound of boots crunching against gravel broke through the stillness.
Both turned sharply.
Two guards stood before them, their expressions unreadable, their postures rigid with formality.
"Delta Rowan," one of them said coolly, "by order of the Queen, you are to be grounded."
The words hung heavy in the air.
Lyra's eyes widened in confusion, and before she could stop herself, she turned to Rowan. His expression didn't change—no surprise, no protest. Just quiet acceptance.
That unsettled her more than the words themselves.
"Grounded?" she repeated, stepping forward. "What does that even mean? Why would she do that?"
The guards remained silent.
Lyra's chest tightened. She had already witnessed Seraphina's erratic behavior, her volatile moods, her hostility toward anything she couldn't control—including Lyra. But this? This felt different. Calculated.
