Lyra wasted no time.
At dawn, before the camp had even stirred, she stood at the edge of our tent with two guards in black armor. Her voice was calm, but there was steel in it.
"New orders. You two will clear the western ravine of any rogues still lurking there. Separate routes. Separate targets."
Aria's glow flickered faintly beneath her skin, the mark on her wrist pulsing harder as Lyra spoke. "You want to split us up? After what happened last night?"
Lyra's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Exactly. If you're going to be useful, Veilborn, you need to prove you can hold yourself together without your anchor. Or do you plan to cling to Kael like a child every time the whispers grow loud?"
Aria's claws flexed at her sides, but she said nothing. Lyra turned to me, her gaze sharp. "If she loses control… put her down before she puts the rest of us at risk. Understood?"
I didn't answer. Not with words. My glare was enough.
Minutes later, Aria and I stood at the fork of a shadowed path, the trees thick and heavy with mist. We exchanged a look—brief, quiet, but enough to say everything. Neither of us trusted Lyra. Neither of us liked this.
She turned down her route first, her figure soon swallowed by the fog. I waited a moment, listening, then started down mine. The further I went, the quieter the forest became, like the trees themselves were holding their breath.
And then, faintly, I felt it. The pulse. Not from me, but from her.
Somewhere ahead, the mark on her wrist must have flared, because the whispers in my own head—the ones I'd been ignoring since that thing in the clearing—began to stir.
I quickened my pace.
The first rogue came at me from the left, a lean, scarred wolf with blood-stained fur. I shifted mid-step, my claws catching it across the throat before it could lunge. Another two appeared, their eyes wild, their scent thick with fear and madness.
I tore through them quickly, but not cleanly. They were stalling me. Holding me back.
And then I heard it—a scream. Short, sharp, and cut off halfway. Aria.
I didn't think. I ran.
The trees blurred as I pushed through the fog, following the faint glow ahead. Her glow. It flickered wildly, silver flaring and dimming like a dying flame. When I broke through the last line of trees, I saw her.
She was on her knees, claws digging into the dirt, her breath ragged. The mark had spread across her forearm now, black veins curling like smoke beneath her skin. Her eyes—silver, glowing too bright—snapped toward me, but there was no recognition in them.
The whispers weren't whispers anymore. They were a roar, spilling out of her in every pulse of light. Her body trembled like she was fighting herself, every muscle taut and shaking.
I dropped to my knees in front of her, gripping her shoulders. "Aria! Anchor. Now. Look at me!"
For a moment, nothing. The glow only flared brighter, her claws twitching toward my chest like she didn't know who I was.
And then her gaze locked with mine. The chaos in her eyes wavered, just enough.
"Breathe," I said, my voice low but firm. "Not for them. Not for Lyra. For me."
Her claws lowered, inch by inch. The glow dulled, the whispers fading back into the dark corners of her mind.
When it was over, she sagged forward, her head resting briefly against my shoulder. Her voice was a rasp, barely audible.
"It's spreading, Kael… I can't hold it much longer."
I held her steady as her breathing slowed. But as I looked down at the mark crawling further up her arm, I knew one thing for certain.
If Lyra wanted to use this curse for her own plans, we were running out of time to stop her.