Lyra's POV
I remained motionless, studying Alaric's face as his words hung heavy in the air between us. The silence stretched until I realized moisture was trailing down my cheeks. My fingers moved instinctively to brush away the tears I hadn't known were falling.
"That's incredible," I managed to whisper, my voice barely audible.
"Indeed," Alaric responded quietly. Throughout his storytelling, his appearance had gradually deteriorated. His dark hair now stuck out at odd angles from running his hands through it repeatedly. His tie lay abandoned somewhere on the gym floor, his shirt collar open and wrinkled. The pain of recounting those memories was etched across every line of his face.
Yet I felt profound gratitude that he had chosen to share this with me.
"My aunt," I began carefully, testing the words. "She didn't survive?"
"No," Alaric confirmed, his voice hollow. "Draven had drained her completely."
I absorbed this information with a small nod. "And my father?"
