Chapter 3: The Disastrous News

The mourning hall had been heavy with grief when the sound tore through it.

“Father!”

The cry was so raw it cut through the air like a blade, forcing every head in the corridor to turn at once. Even the healers near the surgical doors froze mid-step.

Lyra’s breath caught in her throat before she even understood why.

A woman burst into the hospital like she had run through a storm without stopping. Her cloak clung to her skin, rainwater dripping from its edges onto the polished floor. Strands of silver-blonde hair stuck to her cheeks, tangled and damp, while her chest rose and fell in sharp, frantic breaths as though she had been running for miles without rest.

Selene Vale had returned.

Ten years had passed, yet she looked as though time had only refined her beauty further, sharpening it into something almost unreal. The kind of presence that didn’t just enter a room but rearranged it. People instinctively stepped aside, not out of command, but recognition—like something inside them still remembered who she was meant to be.

Lyra felt her stomach tighten painfully.

And then, against her will, her gaze drifted toward Darius.

She regretted it instantly.

Because the expression on his face wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t controlled. It wasn’t the distant composure he wore in every other moment of his life.

He was staring at Selene like a man who had finally seen light after a decade buried underground.

Not shock. Not concern.

Longing.

Pure, unguarded longing.

Something in Lyra quietly cracked beneath the weight of that realization.

Darius had never stopped loving her sister. Not for a single day.

“Tell me he’s alive,” Selene’s voice broke as she stumbled forward, rain still dripping from her lashes. “Please… tell me I’m not too late.”

No one answered fast enough.

Her legs gave out.

But she never hit the floor.

Darius moved before thought could catch up to action. One moment he stood near Cassian, the next he had crossed the distance entirely, catching Selene in his arms as though it was instinct carved into him long ago.

One hand secured her waist. The other cradled the back of her head with a care that felt almost possessive.

“Easy,” he murmured.

Just that.

Soft. Controlled. Familiar in a way that felt чуж to Lyra’s entire existence.

She had been his wife for ten years.

Ten years, and she could count on one hand the number of times he had spoken to her like that.

Selene buried her face against his chest, trembling as grief finally broke through her restraint.

“I should have come sooner,” she choked out. “I should have answered Father’s messages… I—”

Darius held her tighter, as if trying to anchor her to the world.

Behind them, Lady Mirelle collapsed into renewed sobs while Cassian stepped forward, wrapping an arm around both mother and daughter in an attempt to hold the remaining pieces of the family together.

To anyone watching, it looked whole.

Reunited.

Complete.

Lyra stood at the edge of it all, unnoticed.

Like something left behind in a place that had stopped remembering her existence.

Her throat burned painfully.

Her father had died too. She had lost him too.

And yet, even grief did not seem to belong to her here.

Quietly, she took a step back.

Then another.

No one stopped her.

Not Cassian.

Not her mother.

And not even Darius.

---

By the time Lyra reached the Shadowcrest estate, the rain had begun to thin into a tired drizzle, leaving the world washed clean but strangely lifeless.

The fortress rose against the night sky like a carved shadow, its towering structure lit faintly by silver lanterns. The gates opened automatically when her vehicle approached, recognizing her without question.

She drove in slowly, hands still faintly trembling on the wheel.

Everything felt distant, as if she were moving through someone else’s memory.

Her father’s final expression refused to leave her mind.

Not anger. Not hatred.

Regret.

Why now?

Why only at the end?

Why spend a lifetime pushing her away just to look at her like that when it no longer mattered?

Lyra parked without precision and stepped out into the cold air.

Servants bowed as she passed, their silence respectful but uneasy. They all already knew. News like this never stayed contained in a wolf dominion for long.

Grief traveled faster than breath.

She made her way upstairs without speaking, her steps automatic, drawn toward one place above all others.

Elias.

But halfway down the corridor, she stopped.

Light spilled from beneath his door.

Her chest tightened immediately.

It was far too late for him to be awake.

Lyra pushed the door open quietly.

Elias sat curled on the bed near the window, knees drawn to his chest beneath the blanket. Moonlight touched his face softly, turning his expression unusually serious for a child of nine.

He looked up the moment she entered.

“Mom?”

Something in his voice made her heart ache.

She forced a gentle smile as she crossed the room.

“Why are you still awake, little wolf?”

He hesitated, then spoke in a quieter tone.

“Something happened tonight.”

Lyra paused.

Instinct sharpened instantly.

Children of strong bloodlines sometimes inherited sensitivity early, but this… this felt different.

She sat beside him carefully. “What makes you say that?”

Elias lifted his gaze. His eyes—blue-gray, identical to Darius’s—held a quiet certainty that did not belong in a child.

“The Flame Thread disappeared.”

A chill moved through her immediately.