After a long stretch of silence, Lyra finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
"When I was six, I accidentally spilled soup on one of Miranda's gowns. It was a mistake—I didn't mean to. But as punishment…" She paused, her eyes distant. "I was forced to drink that same boiling soup."
Cassian's heart stilled. He didn't move. Didn't breathe. His eyes locked onto hers as he caught the shimmer of unshed tears glistening at the corners—yet the smile on her face never faltered.
It was the kind of smile meant to hide everything.
"It burned so badly I couldn't eat anything for days," she continued softly. "I thought maybe if I just sat still… stayed quiet… I would heal faster. And I did. Eventually."
Her gaze lifted to his, hollow and unflinching.
"But somewhere along the way," she said, her voice barely holding together, "I forgot how to speak."
