Naya Rivera Book Novels & Stories

"Inside the archive." "That's not an answer." Lyria looked at Kael, then at Ryker. Finally, she held the book out to Nyra. "It has your father's name in it." Nyra took it. The cover was worn. It had no title. She opened the first page. A single sentence had been written there. 'I was wrong about who I could trust.' Nyra turned the page and saw the next was blank. She turned it and saw yet another blank page. She turned one last time and still saw nothing.

I let out turning back to the counter and placing my can next to the box of frosted flakes. “Are you ok?” Maverick was quick to my side placing a hand over my now quivering hands. A twenty-year-old man and two nineteen-year-old teens where brought in to custody yesterday morning for questioning over the death of nineteen year old Ashton Rivera who was sadly stabbed twice in his abdomen as well as suffering knife wounds to his hands last week that sadly caused him to lose his life. The three suspects have now been charged with his murder and remain in custody until… “Nina” Maverick called, his voice soothing like a whisper. I released a sharp breath forcing a smile to my lips. “Sorry, I’m fin

Possibilities appeared. ⸻ And from the first sentence… Everything began. ⸻ 🌙 Nyra’s Secret Nyra lowered her head. 😢 ⸻ “I found his book.” ⸻ Silence. ⸻ Years ago. Before her erasure. Before the First War. ⸻ She had wandered deeper than anyone else. ⸻ Deeper than the Silent Sea. Deeper than dreams. ⸻ And there… She discovered a book. 📖

NYRA She told Rafael about Nyra that morning — she went to his study before breakfast and knocked and told him everything about the courtyard, about the woman who appeared and disappeared, about what had been said. He listened with the particular quality of attention he brought to important things — completely, without rushing to respond, giving her account the full consideration it required. When she finished, he was quiet for a long moment. "Nyra," he said. The name had a quality in his voice: not surprise, but the weight of familiarity — a name encountered many times in reading and now arrived in the room. "You know who she is," Lena said. "Of her," he said carefully. "In the oldest texts

Rowan's words shattered my heart completely. I let out a bitter laugh, turned, and walked away without looking back. Someone once told me that promises were the most useless things in the world—what mattered was action. I never believed it before, but now, I did. I took a cab to the Rivers, planning to see Patrick and leave after that. Halfway there, I received a video call from Jeremy Harding. "Angela, look at the tulips by the side of the road—they're so beautiful. Coriland is amazing. Are you really not coming back?"

she said, unfolding it, “was written by a young woman in Cairo. Her name is Layla. She sent us this letter three weeks ago.” River moved closer to the podium, his voice steady as he read aloud: “When I found Rewrite, I was standing on the edge of a rooftop. I had a letter in my hand. It was a goodbye. But instead of jumping, I opened your book instead. And by the time I finished the first page, I was crying for a different reason. Because I saw myself. And I didn’t feel alone anymore.” The room was silent. Not a dry eye. River folded the letter carefully, placing it back into his jacket pocket.

> “He wants to replace the river with silence.” > “To turn memory into a forest of mouths.” > “And your village is the last dam.” --- That night, Mira finds the old riverbook left by her grandmother. The pages are brittle, but one remains untouched by time — sealed with wax and pressed between dried leaves. She peels it open. A name stares up at her. One no one has dared speak since the river first turned black. “Asamando.” The name of the original river spirit. The one before Nana Esi. Before the River Witch.

The confidence that carried her moments ago faltered, and before she could stop it, tears slid down her cheeks. She let out a shaky breath, wiping them away quickly. “Why am I even crying over this?” she muttered under her breath, forcing a small laugh. Straightening her shoulders, she whispered to herself, “Tonight, I’m going to the club. I’ll dance. I’m done crying.” ********** (Selvayra) Naya sat on a fallen log deep within the forest, the shadows of the trees hid her away from sunlight. Her eyes were hollow, filled with pain and exhaustion. Every breath felt heavy, every thought a burden. She stared blankly ahead, hating herself, hating everything.

The book is called JERICHO (For obvious reasons) Follow my In$t@gr@m account of you want to read any of my kindle books or paperbacks : the handle us @authorkyliegopal.

"Gideon Frost, you truly have become vicious. Fine. Since you protect this evil spirit's remains so dearly, then you will personally burn them to ashes to cleanse the bad luck from Adrian's body." Father trembled all over and stared at Mother in disbelief. "Seraphina, have you forgotten why you are alive today? My sister traded her life for yours. Have you forgotten all of it? "How dare you treat her like this? How dare you!" The courtyard fell silent. Only Adrian's groans drifted faintly from the rooms beyond. Mother drew a breath. Her brows tightened with impatience. "Must you cling to something from so many years ago? "She is already dead. How can a dead ghost compare to Adrian's living l