Lyra POV

The silence in the vault was not harmony.

It was a burial.

I stood before the obsidian wall, the air stale and tasting of centuries of undisturbed dust. My reflection in the polished black stone looked like a stranger—a woman with wild hair and eyes that had seen the other side of death. Above me, the weight of the entire Sunken Grove pressed down, miles of dirt and root separating me from the sky. And yet, I could feel the vibrations of the war raging above.

I could feel the ...