Lyra's pov:
The council was exactly as unbearable as I expected.
Too many voices.
Too many lies dressed as diplomacy.
And far too many vampires.
I stood beside my father, posture straight, expression carefully neutral as conversations flowed around us—alliances, territory disputes, fragile agreements that everyone pretended would last.
They never did.
They never do.
My gaze drifted more than once across the room, catching glimpses of them.
Pale. Still. Watching.
Vampires didn't blend in.
They didn't belong.
And yet here they were, standing beneath the same roof, speaking of "peace" as if it wasn't something already broken long ago.
My chest tightened slightly.
That night.
No.
I forced the thought away.
"Lyra."
I turned at my father's voice.
"You're not listening," he murmured.
"I am," I replied automatically.
He gave me a look that said he didn't believe me—but he let it go.
Thankfully.
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours.
Every second here felt suffocating.
The air too heavy.
The tension too sharp.
And then—
Something shifted.
It was subtle.
So subtle I almost missed it.
A pull.
Deep in my chest.
My breath hitched.
"…Excuse me," I muttered, not waiting for permission before stepping away.
I needed air.
Space.
Anything but this.
The moment I stepped outside, the cold night wrapped around me—but it wasn't enough.
The feeling didn't fade.
It grew stronger.
Pulling.
Insistent.
Alive.
My wolf stirred instantly.
Do you feel that?
"Yes…" I whispered under my breath.
This wasn't normal.
This wasn't anything I had ever felt before.
And yet—
It felt… right.
That was the worst part.
My steps carried me forward before I could think to stop them.
Past the borders of the gathering.
Past the guards.
Into the forest.
The deeper I went, the quieter it became.
No wind.
No movement.
Just that pull—
Guiding me.
Calling me.
Until—