Lyra

I tossed and turned in bed, my hand reaching out for Ryan's comforting warmth, but finding only empty space. As I drifted off into a restless sleep, a vision as vivid as it was disjointed consumed me.

Had I known it came from the red witch, I would have slapped myself awake.

Instead, I found myself in a dimly lit dungeon, the air heavy with the scent of dampness and despair. Iron bars encased individual cells, ancient markings etched onto their surfaces. My heart raced ...