The arrows were finished before sundown. Good work, clean work—fletched and sharpened to perfection. He’d packed them in a neat bundle and set them near the front door.

He even made dinner.

Grilled sernuk, roasted potatoes, a side of sweetbread. All her favorites. They’d earned a proper meal after an afternoon of botanical experiments and altered arrows he thought.

But the food had gone cold.
He hadn't touched a bite.

The longer he waited, the tighter the knot in his stomach wound. It was full dark now—moons risen, stars bright. She was just out with Subira, he reminded himself. Just testing some plants. So why wasn’t she back?

He stood on the front steps, arms crossed, eyes trained on the path beyond the gate. He didn’t even remember stepping outside.

Behind him, the plumehounds stirred. Tau paced near the fence, nose to the ground, tail stiff. Kaja had taken up post near the gate, staring out into the trees like a silent sentry.

They were both on alert.

That alone set every muscle in his body on edge.

Why hadn’t she taken Kaja? Lyra always took Kaja. Even to the market.

Why hadn’t he told her he loved her before she left? Why didn’t he kiss her? She told him and all he’d said was just stay safe.

Just those three worn-out words he always gave her before they parted. He’d meant them—but they weren’t enough now. Not when she was late.

Would "I love you" have been so hard?

He let out a sharp breath and scrubbed a hand down his face.

She’s with Subira. You’re overreacting. Breathe. Settle.

Except every breath felt shallow. Every rustle of the leaves sent him jerking toward the gate, expecting her to be there.

But the gate stayed shut. And Lyra didn’t come.

He paced the length of the garden three times before stopping at the table where he’d set two plates. Still untouched. Still waiting.

He didn’t sit. Couldn’t. Instead, he reached for the arrows—checking the fletching again. Just to keep his hands busy.

A breeze rolled through, rustling the bushes. Tau lifted his head, ears trained toward the east. Kaja gave a soft whuff.

Hassian’s chest tightened.

Something was wrong.

He didn’t have proof. Didn’t have logic. But he didn’t need either. He had instincts. And they were screaming at him.

Elderwood Cave

She sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, the tracking device Subira had given her resting in her palm. Its tiny red light blinked at her with steady indifference, broken only when she pressed the center button—then it flashed green, briefly, like it was thinking about cooperating… before going stubbornly red again.

Useless thing.

Lyra had already paced the length of the cave several times, waving the device in different directions, climbing onto rocks, even whispering a few colorful threats under her breath. No luck. The signal refused to stabilize. She sighed and tucked the device against her chest for a moment, trying not to spiral. You’re not lost. You’re underground. There’s interference. Subira will find you. She has to.

But then something caught her eye—just off to the left, half-hidden behind a curtain of vines. She tilted her head and crept closer, brushing the greenery aside. There, set into the far wall, was a small opening.
Not a crack. A tunnel.

She knelt, running her fingers along the edges. The rock had clearly been worn smooth over time. It was just wide enough to crawl through.

“Oh, this feels like a terrible idea,” she muttered, and started crawling anyway.

The stone scraped her shoulders as she squeezed through, but she made it into a narrow corridor on the other side. She could stand—barely—but it was pitch black.

No way forward without light.

Lyra backed out, returned to the larger chamber, and grabbed one of the lanterns from near the bed. She paused just long enough to check the device again—red, still red, useless—then slipped back through the opening, lantern first.

The corridor stretched onward like the throat of some sleeping creature. Moisture clung to the walls, and her boots made soft squelching sounds on the damp floor. Every few steps, she stopped and pressed the device button. Flash of green… then red.

Again.
Again.
Still red.

At some point—she couldn’t say exactly when—she realized the incline was sloping downward. Not sharply, but steadily, enough that her knees started to feel the change.

And the air was shifting too. Heavier. Warmer.

She was headed back toward the front of the cave, she thought—only below it now.

Or was it a trick of the tunnels?

She stopped and held up the device again.
Green.
Then red.

Her pulse skipped. She hadn’t imagined that. That flash had been longer. Stronger.

Something was down here.

And she was getting closer.

Deeper in the Elderwood Cave

Lyra finally stumbled into another open space—larger than the other, but undeniably a cave. The air was heavier here, and the walls loomed close. A strange purple glow lit the chamber, pulsing softly like the heartbeat of the cave itself, but she couldn’t tell where it was coming from. No torch. No crystal. Just…glow.

She reached for the tracking device and pressed the button again.

Green.

She blinked, waited. Still green.

“Finally,” she whispered, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

But then—shift.

Something scuffed the stone behind her.

Lyra froze.

Another shuffle. Closer this time.

“Oh, hell,” she muttered, lifting her lantern as she turned toward the sound.

Her light caught on a figure—small, crouched in the far corner. Not a beast. A child.

A boy, maybe ten or twelve, half-hidden in the shadows. His eyes were wide with terror, and he was pressed into the wall like he wanted to melt through it.

“Hey,” Lyra said gently, taking a cautious step forward. “Are you okay?”

No answer. Just a small, broken noise. He didn’t move.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she promised. “I’m Lyra. What’s your name?”

The boy shook his head, eyes darting.

“…Stuck…” he whispered hoarsely.

Lyra knelt down slowly, careful not to spook him. “It’s okay. We’ll get out.”

The boy swallowed, then muttered something she could barely hear: “Danger… woods…”

A loud clank echoed through the chamber, and Lyra spun around.

There—across the cave wall—was a metal grate. And from the other side, a voice.

“Lyra?”

Lyra’s heart leapt. “I’m here! Subira!”

“Oh, thank the stars,” Subira called. “I can’t get this grate loose. I think I’m going to have to go for help—”

“Wait, hold on,” Lyra said, marching to the barrier. She braced herself and gave it a few well-placed kicks, hard enough to make her boot sting.

Something shifted.

Subira gave it a good tug, and the grate clattered to the ground.

Within moments, Subira was in the cave. Her eyes widened the moment she saw Lyra. “I’ve been looking for you for hours. What happened?”

“I was following Tamala. I saw her go into a cave, so I followed. She showed up and…”

Lyra tried to finish the sentence.

But nothing came out. Her throat locked. Her tongue refused to move.

“…Lyra?” Subira stepped closer, concern sharpening her tone. “Hey—calm down. You’re safe now. I’m sorry this happened to you.”

Before Lyra could attempt another word, the boy bolted. He sprang up and dashed for the entrance like his life depended on it—then he was gone.

Subira gasped. “Was that—?”

“I think I found the missing child,” Lyra said numbly. “And I just let him get away.”

They made their way outside. The moons were high now, painting the Elderwood in silver and blue. Lyra glanced at the sky.

“It’s this late?” she said, wincing. “Hassian is going to lose his mind. I have to get home.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Subira offered. “We can talk on the way.”

They moved quickly along the winding trail. Lyra tried to explain everything, but each time she reached the part about Tamala, her voice vanished again—mid-sentence, mid-word. Her mouth would move, but no sound came.

Subira frowned. “Lyra… you know you can trust me, right? Whatever happened, you can open up to me.”

Lyra stopped walking. Her hands clenched at her sides. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you,” she finally managed to say, “I don’t have the ability.”

Subira stared at her. Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You’ve been Bound.”

Lyra nodded once.

Subira exhaled slowly, piecing the implications together as they continued walking. By the time they reached the edge of Kilima, the sky was streaked with stars, and Lyra’s stomach had twisted into knots.

As they neared her house, Subira touched her arm. “Do you want me to come with you? To explain to Hassian?”

Lyra looked up at her door. The windows were dark. The plumehounds might be asleep—or still watching. Or pacing.

“No,” she said quietly. “Thank you, but… I have to do this alone.”

Subira nodded, stepping back. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Lyra gave her a weak smile, then squared her shoulders and walked toward the door, lantern in hand, heart in her throat.