The sisters didn't waste any time letting me catch my breath or ask what came next.
"Come on," Lyra said, already striding toward the trees. "The binding has to happen while the power's still raw. If we wait, it'll just figure out how to slip away from us."
My legs felt like jelly as I trailed after them, the den's firelight fading behind us. Lyra held the torch high, shadows flickering wildly over the snow. That flash of silver was still stamped behind my eyelids, refusing to fade.
Selvara kept pace beside me, silent and sharp-eyed. Where Lyra's steps felt steady, almost motherly, Selvara moved with this quiet, animal grace—half-wild, all edge. Both of them carried some heavy, old wisdom in their bones.
