POV: Lyra

“The story didn’t end. It learned how to breathe.”

The land is quiet in the way a held breath is quiet.

Not empty, not calm. Just waiting.

I stand at the edge of the terrace with my hands resting lightly against the stone railing, feeling the faint vibration beneath my palms.

It is not healing, not breaking, It is adjusting, like a spine settling into a new posture.

Behind me, Miranda clears her throat.

“You’re standing too still,” she says.

I don’t turn. “You taught ...