บททั้งหมดของ TWO ALPHAS ONE BOND : บทที่ 71 - บทที่ 80

LYRA White. That was the first thing I saw. Everything was white. Not like walls or snow, nothing from the world I knew. This was different. It was the kind of white that existed before color was invented. Absolute. Total. Like standing inside pure light, but without any warmth or texture. Just this vast, infinite nothingness that hadn't decided what it wanted to be yet. I was standing. I didn't remember deciding to, I was just… here. "Sky?" I tried to say. The word just vanished the moment it left my mouth. Not an echo, not silence. Just gone. Absorbed by the white like it had never been spoken. I turned slowly. Every direction looked the same. No horizon, no floor, even though I was standing on something. No ceiling. Just endless white pressing in from everywhere, yet somehow not feeling claustrophobic, which made no sense but felt true. "Sky," I said, louder this time. "I know you're here. Talk to me." Nothing. "Sky, please," my voice cracked. "I don't know where I am. I don't k

LYRA Dr. Sera had been circling my bed for what felt like an eternity, though it was probably only ten minutes. She wasn't the aggressive type, not at all, but the way she moved around me had this specific energy, like her entire medical textbook had just been quietly shredded, and she was desperately searching for the shredded pieces. She checked my pulse for what felt like the hundredth time, then glanced at the monitor, then at me, then back at the monitor. "Less than forty-eight hours," she murmured, mostly to herself. "Yep," I replied. "Silver Thornbloom." She said it like she was tasting something unfamiliar, trying to recall its properties. "You were given Silver Thornbloom." "I was shot with it, actually," I clarified. "And you're–" She gestured vaguely at me, taking in my upright posture, my steady hands, and the utter lack of the rapid decline that should have been devouring me from the inside out. "This." "This," I confirmed. She clicked her pen. Unscrewed the cap, t

LYRA Zeviar's penthouse in the packhouse was a world away from the sterile medical wing. The instant he opened the door, the air shifted. Gone was the antiseptic smell and the hum of fluorescent lights, replaced by warm light, clean space, and a profound stillness. It felt like a place meticulously crafted for one person's idea of perfect rest. Dark wood floors gleamed, floor-to-ceiling windows offered a sweeping view of the packhouse grounds, and the furniture was a masterful blend of luxury and comfort, clearly meant to be lived in, not just admired. I stepped inside, momentarily captivated, just standing there. "Feeling better?" Zeviar's voice came from behind me. "Considerably," I replied. He moved to the kitchen, an open-plan, modern space that seemed utterly at odds with the packhouse's medieval stone exterior. He started preparing something without asking if I wanted any. Drawn to the windows, I looked out at the grounds bathed in the late afternoon light. Wolves moved about

LYRA Orion arrived like he always did, instantly commanding the room with an energy that suggested he found the world fascinating and was ready to dive in headfirst. The penthouse doors swung open at precisely seven forty-three in the morning. He strolled in, jacket slung over one shoulder, a coffee already in hand, clearly snagged somewhere between the tarmac and this fortieth-floor perch. His expression was that of a man who had slept on a plane and considered it perfectly adequate. He paused in the center of the living room, his gaze sweeping from the ceiling to the windows, then down at the sprawling city below. Taking in the sheer scale of it all, he finally spoke. "Zeviar," he drawled. "Morning," Zeviar replied from the kitchen, not bothering to look up. "This is obscene." "You've said that before." "And it remains true." Orion dropped onto the sofa with an effortless grace, the kind that comes from being in spaces like this so often that comfort eclipses any need for prete

LYRA The blood was everywhere. On my hands, splattered across the floor, staining the faces of people I loved but couldn't reach, no matter how fast I ran or how loud I screamed. The worst part was the sound of my own voice, a desperate, useless noise that kept echoing into nothingness. It was like watching a horror movie where I was always too late, the people kept falling, and my screams were swallowed by the chaos. "Lyra." My eyes snapped open. Orion was propped up on one elbow, his golden eyes sharp with concern. Zeviar's hand was already on my shoulder, a steady, grounding presence that felt like a lifeline. "Hey," Orion said softly, his voice cutting through the lingering dread. "You're okay. We're here." I sat up, pressing my hands to my face, trying to shake off the remnants of the nightmare. The penthouse was dim, lit only by the indifferent glow of Manhattan's relentless energy. "It's just a bad dream," I murmured, the words feeling hollow even to me. "What kind?" Zev