The chamber still echoed with the aftermath of broken magic. Silver strands of light clung to the corners of the crystalline walls, like the last breath of a storm refusing to die.
Lira lay in Lucas's arms, unconscious but alive. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, steady breaths. Lucas's face was buried in her hair, the sharp angles of his features crumpled in exhaustion, grief, and shame.
But I had no time for grief—not anymore. My heart burned, steady and focused on only one thing.
"I need to go home," I murmured, my voice steady but hollow.
Lucas finally looked at me. His eyes were rimmed red from crying, the weight of everything pressing him down like a mountain on his back. "Athena..."
"No." I raised a hand before he could say more. "Don't. Whatever excuse you think will make this better, don't waste it."
I could see the guilt eat at him. The longing, the regret, the apology hovering in his throat. But none of it could fix what had broken.
