Chapter 107

Lyra’s POV

I felt as though I were locked inside a small, pitch-black locker. Everywhere around me was absolute darkness, and I couldn’t move a single muscle. Panic coiled in my chest, but my body would not respond. All I could perceive were faint noises—indistinct voices whispering, echoing somewhere deep in my mind.

I heard one voice, familiar yet muffled, say, “I’m just helping her.” Who was speaking? I couldn’t place the tone or the accent. The words drifted in and out of my awareness like smoke.

Then another voice, equally familiar but impatient, shot back, “Helping another man’s wife, Julian? That’s Alistair’s wife, you idiot!”

“Alistair.” The name rang a distant bell, but I couldn’t summon a face or a memory to go with it. All I had were these ghostly snippets of conversation that meant nothing yet stirred something deep within me.

Over and over again, phrases repeated in that void:

“You’re mine, Lyra.” “Let’s get married.” “I’ll bur