AYLA'S POV
(THREE YEARS LATER)
"Mama, watch!"
I looked up from the reports scattered across my desk to find my daughter standing on the window ledge—three stories up.
"Lyra Valerius, get down from there right now."
"But I want to fly!"
"Wolves don't fly. We have four legs, not wings."
"I'm special. Papa said so." She spread her arms wide, silver and gold runes glowing across her skin. The void-black markings pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat.
"Papa is in trouble when I find him," I muttered, moving toward the window. "Lyra, please. Come down. You're scaring me."
She tilted her head, considering. At three years old, she already had the unnerving habit of looking at you like she could see through your soul.
"You're not scared," she said finally. "You're annoyed."
"I can be both. Now come here before—"
She jumped.
My heart stopped. Power exploded from my palms, catching her mid-air with silver light. I yanked her back through the window, holding her tight.
