"I know you're not sleeping, Lyra."
Casian's voice was hoarse, low, and intimate—brushing against her skin like a midnight breeze. A shiver slid down her spine before she could suppress it.
Slowly, reluctantly, Lyra turned to face him. Her eyes met his, and for a heartbeat, everything fell still.
His piercing blue gaze—usually unreadable—was raw, unguarded, laced with something that made her chest ache.
A heavy silence stretched between them, thick with unsaid truths and barely restrained emotions. Neither of them moved. Neither dared to breathe too loud. The space between them pulsed with something fragile… dangerous.
Casian had spent the entire day running—trying to bury the emotions Lyra had unearthed in him. He wasn't ready for her. He wasn't ready for this bond that felt too real, too consuming. And yet, all day, she had haunted him. Her scent. Her voice—though silent—echoed louder than anything else in his mind.
He had told himself he wouldn't come back here.
But now, here he was. Drawn to her like a moth to a flame that promised to burn him alive.
Her presence soothed something savage inside him. The ache of years spent grieving was quieted in the stillness between them. It frightened him.
Lyra slowly lifted her notebook and scrawled across the page. She turned it toward him, the edges trembling in her hand.
'What's wrong?'
Casian inhaled deeply.
His voice, when it came, was calm—too calm. "The scars on your body… how did you get them?"
Lyra's eyes widened. The words hit like a punch to the gut.
Her lips parted in disbelief, her hands curling protectively around the letter still clutched to her chest.
'Why do you want to know?' she scribbled, but she didn't meet his eyes.
She didn't want to talk about this. Not with him. Not with anyone.
Casian studied her, his expression unreadable now, back behind his mask of control. But his hand moved, fingers brushing against her chin to tilt her face toward him.
"I just want to understand."
His voice had softened, but the storm in his eyes betrayed the intensity simmering beneath.
He shouldn't care this much. He shouldn't want to tear the world apart for a girl he barely knew. But seeing the shadows behind her eyes—knowing someone had put them there—made his blood boil.
Lyra swallowed hard, her resolve wavering.
For once, his presence didn't frighten her. It didn't suffocate her like others' did. There was anger in him, yes—but it wasn't aimed at her.
It was for her.
Finally, she wrote, slowly, painfully:
'My stepmother would whip me… whenever I failed to care for her children. It was normal.'
Casian's jaw clenched. Fury rippled through him like a silent storm.
His hand tightened into a fist on the blanket beside her. "Did it go beyond that?" he asked, voice taut, vibrating with barely suppressed rage.
Lyra flinched. Her hands trembled slightly.
She didn't answer.
She couldn't.
'I'm tired,' she wrote instead. Then she turned away, curling back toward the pillow, hoping it would make him stop.
Casian's lips twisted. The silence between them shifted, no longer tender but taut with frustration. The way she shut him out—again—lit a spark in his veins.
He stood without a word, the motion sudden and sharp.
And then the door slammed behind him.
Lyra jolted at the sound, the echo vibrating through her bones. Her breath hitched as she slowly sat up, eyes locked on the door.
The letter lay in her lap now, its delicate paper crinkling beneath her grip.
Why had he asked?
Why had he looked at her like that—like her pain mattered?
He didn't want her. He'd made that clear. And yet, his anger, his demand for answers… it left her questioning everything.
A part of her—small and foolish—had hoped he would return.
But the minutes dragged.
And he didn't.
That part of her quietly fractured.
[Elsewhere in the Fortress]
Casian paced his chamber like a caged animal.
His skin prickled with frustration, his jaw aching from how tightly he clenched it.
He couldn't stop picturing her face.
Her silence.
Her trembling hands.
He hated it. Hated the way she shut down when he was finally trying to get close. Hated that she still felt the need to hide from him.
"AHH!"
A roar tore from his throat, and he hurled the ornate vase across the room.
It shattered on impact, shards exploding against the stone wall.
He stood there, breathing hard, chest heaving with pent-up rage.
"Why won't she talk to me?" he growled, slamming a hand against the table.
Not even a damn word. Only that notebook. Only that silence. She had endured everything in silence, and she was still doing it now.
But not for long.
He wouldn't let her live caged in fear—not here. Not under his roof.
A pulse of savage protectiveness surged in his chest.
"Darius!" he barked.
The door swung open a moment later, his Beta stepping inside with sharp eyes, only to freeze at the sight of the destroyed vase.
Casian didn't flinch. His voice came low and deadly:
"I want Norman and his entire family brought here. By tomorrow morning."
Darius's eyes widened. "Norman? Lyra's father?"
"Yes." Casian's voice dropped lower. "I want them in my house. No excuses."
Darius hesitated. He hadn't seen Casian like this in years. Not since the war. Not since Lilith's death.
A storm lived in his Alpha's eyes tonight.
And it was hungry for blood.
"Now," Casian growled.
Darius didn't need to be told twice. He nodded sharply and vanished down the hall.
Left alone again, Casian leaned forward, bracing himself on the edge of the table. His muscles trembled—not from weakness, but restraint.
If Lyra wouldn't speak…
He would make them talk.
And if they had ever laid a hand on her—
He'd make sure they never raised another again.