LYRA

The Moon Garden was colder than it looked from above. Frost clung to the silver flowers, making them glitter like scattered diamonds. The fountain at the center flowed softly, water flowing over white stone carved into the shape of wolves howling at an absent moon.

Riven stood beside it, his back to me, shoulders tense with waiting.

I stayed in the shadows for a moment longer, watching him. Letting myself feel the rage that had sustained me for five years. Letting it fill my chest until ...