AYLA'S POV
I barely slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Lyra in that silver cage. Saw her burning from the inside. Saw her becoming like Morrigan—broken, scarred, empty.
Beside me, Kael was equally restless. Through our bond, I felt his turmoil matching mine.
"We can still leave," I whispered into the darkness. "Take her home. Find another way."
"There is no other way. You heard the Council. You heard Morrigan." His hand found mine. "This is the only chance she has."
"It's barbaric."
"It's survival."
"She's three years old, Kael. THREE. She should be playing with dolls, not—" My voice broke. "Not agreeing to be tortured."
"She's not a normal three-year-old. She never will be." He pulled me closer. "And she's stronger than we think. Stronger than both of us, maybe."
"That doesn't make this easier."
"No. It doesn't."
A bell rang—harsh, metallic, echoing through the sanctuary.
