Chapter 63

Lyra’s POV

As our private jet began its descent toward San Francisco, I couldn’t help but steal glances at Alistair seated across the cabin. Those fleeting eye contacts—brief, electric—were the only moments of genuine connection on this otherwise formal flight home. Outside the window, the city lights glinted beneath us like a field of distant stars, and I felt a flutter of anticipation. Would Audrey and Sienna be waiting? How long had I missed their easy laughter?

We touched down on the same tarmac as before. The engines wound down, and one by one, the cabin lights brightened. Alistair rose first, his posture regal even in casual clothes, and strode toward the exit. I followed, collecting my carry-on from the overhead bin, my heart thumping as though I’d just completed a sprint. Across the runway, five sleek black convoys were lined up, engines idling like great mechanical beasts ready to spring into motion.

We climbed out of the jet and into Alistair’s car