Lyra's mind raced back to that night on the cliff. To the Blood Moon overhead as she'd fallen. To the anguish and betrayal that had consumed her final moments. Had the King somehow seen that? Sensed it across time and distance? Mason laughed, the sound nervous and too loud. "Well, that's quite a dream, Your Majesty. Though I assure you, our pack is quite content. No tears or anguish here." His hand squeezed Lyra's again under the table, harder this time. A clear message: play along, act happy, don't make him look bad. But the King wasn't looking at Mason. His eyes were locked on Lyra, and she could see the knowing in them. He saw through the facade, saw the truth she was desperately trying to hide. "Perhaps," the King said slowly, "the dream spoke of the future rather than the present. Visions are often symbolic, after all." "Indeed," Mason agreed quickly, eager to move past this uncomfortable topic. "Dreams can be quite strange and confusing." The conversation shifted after tha
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