Chapter Sixty Three — The Lost Veyr

Snow stung like needles as Lyra stepped out of the archives, the wind tearing at her cloak as though trying to drag her back. Frostveil’s courtyard had grown even quieter, the kind of silence that meant the world was listening.

Cassian caught up first, boots crunching behind her. “Aethren Veyr,” he repeated, as if tasting the name. “Ronan’s ghost of an uncle. Missing for a decade. Fabulous. Exactly what we needed—another nightmare with a family crest.”

Vale ignored Cassian completely. “We start at his old quarters.”

Malachai nodded. “They’re sealed, but we can open them.”

Cassian perked. “Legally or… creatively?”

“Efficiently,” Vale said.

They crossed the courtyard toward a narrow stairwell carved into the western tower. Frost clung to the railings, runes glowing faintly beneath layers of ice. Lyra felt the tug in her chest again—Ronan’s heartbeat faint but present, like a flicker of warmth in a room gone cold.

He’s not alone.

Someone’s using him.

Someone with his name.

The