ARIA POINT OF VIEW.

The first slap still burned across my cheek when Lyra’s hand rose again.

For a fleeting moment, I thought she might stop, that the single strike had satisfied her pride, that humiliating me before the entire pack had been enough. The hall had already witnessed my fall, my chains, my helplessness.

But Lyra was not finished.

Her eyes shone with something darker than triumph. It wasn’t victory that drove her now, it was resentment sharpened into cruelty. The kind that ...