POV: Lyra

“The ground does not wait for permission.”

“Kenny,” I say quietly, not raising my voice, not rushing, “don’t move.”

He’s already barefoot on the stone.

Not stepping forward, just Listening.

I know that stillness. I carried it once in my own bones, back before the world taught me that stillness was dangerous.

Kenny’s head tilts slightly, like the land just said his name and he’s deciding whether to answer.

“I’m not running,” he says, calm in a way that twists ...