LYRA

I didn't sleep for the fourth night on a row.

Not because I wasn't exhausted but because I couldn't sleep surrounded by the wreckage of my room. Instead I sat on the floor by the window and watched the sky slowly lighten from black to grey to pale morning blue. My mind was too full of rage and fear and the lingering smell of expensive perfume that wasn't mine.

Somewhere around dawn I heard footsteps approaching. I tensed, my hand finding the blade I had kept within reach all night.

The ...