As the door closed behind me, the witch's amber eyes studied me with an unsettling intensity.
"You're exhausted," she said, gesturing to a small bed in the corner of her cottage. "Rest. Your friend is in good hands."
I gripped the frame of the door, feeling the weight of the past days crushing down on me. "I can't rest. Regina—"
"Will be fine," Lyra interrupted, gently taking my arm and guiding me toward the bed. "Time moves differently in this space. What feels like hours to you will be mere minutes outside. Rest now, while I work."
I wanted to protest, but my body betrayed me. My legs felt like lead, and my eyelids drooped despite my best efforts to keep them open.
"I don't even know you," I whispered, even as I sank onto the edge of the soft mattress.
The witch smiled—a sad, knowing smile that reminded me of someone I couldn't quite place.
