Lyra was pissed.

She paced around her brother’s recovery room, her fists clenched tightly beside her, her eyes narrowed as she scrunched her nose.

The smell of burnt flesh filled the air.

Lyra’s gaze was focused entirely on one thing and one thing only.

Her brother's limp, broken body.

Ronan lay crumbled in a cot, unconscious with slowly healing bones.

That was the problem. That was why she was pacing around.

He should have woken up by now.

Ronan might not have been an ...