Lyra's POV
Neither of us moved or said a word.
We locked eyes, tension crackling in silence.
His blood-soaked clothes clung to him, the crimson stains stark in the candle's flickering light. He looked like a man crawling straight from a nightmare but it was the way he stared that truly scared me.
Empty. Cold. Unrecognizable.
My mouth had gone dry and I was torn between playing it off like I often did or kept my mouth shut till he gave in.
Unfortunately I chose the former, a slip of the tongue without thinking this through.
"About time you came back!" I hid my nervousness by crossing my arms, my body trembled but I masked it with my usual confidence. "Where have you been?"
He didn't blink. Didn't speak.
The silence lingered, heavy and sharp.
"Julian, are you hurt—"
Then he moved.
A blur of motion—and suddenly, his hand was around my throat, shoving me back until the wall knocked the air from my lungs.
I gasped, clawing at his wrist. His grip didn't loosen.
