Silas’ hand clamped around mine like a man gripping the edge of a cliff. His pulse hammered against my wrist, frantic, terrified. “Lyria,” he whispered, “don’t listen to him.” Avel swayed where he stood, braced against the wall, eyes fixed on me like I was the only reason he remained upright. “Lyria,” he echoed, voice raw. “Please.” The hall was silent except for their breaths. Silas’ sharp and panicked, Avel’s ragged and fading. Mine caught between them, unsteady. Silas tugged my hand. “We’re leaving.” Avel inhaled sharply, pain flickering across his face, but beneath it, something darker. Fear. Not of Silas. Of me choosing Silas. “I won’t hurt her,” Avel murmured, his voice fraying. “But you will, if you drag her anywhere near that thing still stalking the corridors.” Silas stiffened. “It’s after you, not her.” “No.” Avel’s eyes met mine. “It watches her.” A chill swept through the hall. Silas’ grip tightened. “That’s why she needs to get away from you.” Avel
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