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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

where you walk, i don't follow

ORIGINAL UNIVERSE, HARRY POTTER'S POV

1997

-I- 

ONE DAY SHE WAS GONE

The Burrow was unusually quiet for a house that usually bustled with activity. The war had cast its shadow over everything, and even the cheerful clutter of the Weasley home felt subdued. Harry sat at the worn kitchen table, his fingers drumming nervously against the wood as he stared at the untouched cup of tea in front of him.

Ron was across from him, leaning back in his chair, his long legs stretched out. Hermione sat beside Ron, her hands folded tightly in her lap, her brow furrowed with concern.

"I've asked everyone," Harry said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was tight, his frustration evident. "Neville hasn't seen her. Daphne said she might've gone to Blaise's funeral, but no one saw her there either. Pansy hasn't heard from her too."

Ron exchanged a glance with Hermione, his expression uncertain. "Harry, mate, maybe she just needs time. After everything that's happened—"

"No," Harry interrupted, his tone sharper than he intended. He leaned forward, his green eyes blazing with determination. "She wouldn't just disappear like this. Not without telling me."

Hermione hesitated before speaking. "Harry," she began gently, "we've all been through so much. Lyra's lost people too—Blaise, for one. Maybe she's grieving in her own way."

Harry's jaw tightened, and he shook his head. "She's not just grieving. Something's wrong. I know it."

"Blaise's funeral was yesterday," Hermione pointed out softly, her gaze steady. "She might've gone and left right after. Maybe she didn't want to talk to anyone."

"Didn't want to talk to me, you mean," Harry muttered, his voice laced with bitterness. "She said we will talk after the war. Where in Merlin's name is she?"

"Harry, that's not fair," Hermione said, frowning. "You know Lyra. She's not the type to shut people out for no reason. If she hasn't reached out, it might be because she can't."

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," Harry said, his voice cracking slightly. He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration and worry spilling over. "What if she's in trouble? What if she's hurt somewhere and I'm just sitting here doing nothing?"

Ron sat up straighter, his expression serious now. "Alright, say you're right—what do we do? You've asked everyone you could think of, and no one knows where she is. Where else would she go?"

Harry was silent for a moment, his mind racing. Then, as if struck by a sudden realization, he looked up. "Malfoy Manor."

"Malfoy Manor?" Hermione repeated, her brow furrowing deeply. "Harry, are you sure? That place—it's practically a ruin now."

"Exactly," Harry said, his voice urgent. "It's quiet, out of the way. She might've gone there to get away from everything."

"Or to hide," Ron added grimly, exchanging a glance with Hermione. "The ministry still sees her and her mother as death eaters, but they said Lucius Malfoy was in hiding, they saw him somewhere in the countryside before he disappeared again."

Hermione hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "It's possible that she might be there. But Harry, if you're going to check, you can't go alone. If something's wrong—"

"I'll go with him," Ron said firmly.

"No," Harry said, standing abruptly. "I need to do this on my own."

"Harry, don't be stupid," Hermione snapped, rising to her feet. "If she's in trouble, you're going to need backup."

Harry shook his head, already grabbing his wand from the table. "This is personal, Hermione. I need to find her, and I need to find her now."

Ron sighed, getting to his feet as well. "Fine, but don't do anything reckless, alright? If she's not there, come straight back, and we'll figure out the next step."

Harry nodded, though his mind was already racing ahead to the gates of Malfoy Manor. "I'll let you know what I find."

"Be careful, Harry," Hermione said softly, her concern evident in her eyes.

Without another word, Harry turned and strode toward the door, his heart pounding as he prepared for whatever lay ahead.

The gates of Malfoy Manor loomed before Harry, cold and foreboding. The once-grand estate bore the scars of the war—its iron gates hung slightly askew, the pristine lawn was overgrown and wild, and the grand façade of the manor itself was cracked and weathered.

Harry tightened his grip on his wand, his heart pounding as he pushed the gates open. They creaked loudly in the stillness, and the sound sent a chill down his spine. He didn't know what he expected to find—Lyra sitting calmly in one of the drawing rooms, perhaps, or some trace of where she might have gone. But the eerie silence that greeted him filled him with unease.

He approached the door, his footsteps crunching against the gravel drive. When he reached the entrance, he found it unlocked, the heavy door swinging open with an ominous groan.

"Lyra?" he called out, his voice echoing in the empty hall. The manor swallowed the sound, its cavernous silence pressing in on him.

The air inside was cold and stale, carrying the faint scent of dust and decay. Harry stepped cautiously into the main hall, his wand raised and ready. Portraits of grim-faced ancestors lined the walls, their painted eyes following him with disapproval.

"Lyra!" he tried again, his voice louder this time, but there was no answer.

The house felt lifeless, abandoned. Furniture was covered in white sheets, cobwebs hung in the corners, and a thick layer of dust coated the surfaces. Harry's stomach twisted uneasily as he moved through the rooms, checking each one for any sign of Lyra.

In the drawing room, he found a tea set, the cups and saucers arranged as if someone had just been there. But the tea inside was cold, the liquid long since congealed. A chair was pulled out slightly, as though someone had been sitting there not long ago.

"Where are you?" Harry muttered under his breath, frustration and worry bubbling to the surface.

He climbed the grand staircase, his footsteps echoing loudly in the stillness. At the top, he paused, his eyes scanning the dim corridor. The doors were all closed, but one—at the far end of the hall—was ajar.

Harry approached it slowly, his wand steady. When he pushed the door open, he found what seemed to be a bedroom. The bed was unmade, and a cloak—Lyra's cloak—was draped over the back of a chair. His heart leapt at the sight.

"She was here," he whispered, stepping into the room. He picked up the cloak, the familiar scent of Lyra clinging to the fabric.

On the desk, he noticed a piece of parchment, folded neatly. Harry's hand trembled as he reached for it, unfolding the note. The handwriting was unmistakably hers.

'I am sorry.'

Harry's throat tightened as he read the words. His vision blurred with unshed tears, and his hand clenched the note so tightly it crumpled.

"Damn it, Lyra," he whispered hoarsely, his voice breaking. "Why do you always have to do this alone?"

He sank onto the edge of the bed, the note still clutched in his hand. The silence of the manor seemed to press in on him, suffocating and oppressive. He wanted to scream, to break something, to do anything to release the storm of emotions raging inside him.

But instead, he sat there, the weight of Lyra's absence crashing down on him.

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE, MULTIPLE POVS

PRESENT TIME

-II- 

THE TRUTH DOESN'T CHANGE ANYTHING

The morning light streamed through the large windows of 12 Grimmauld Place's sitting room, casting golden beams on the polished floor. Lyra sat cross-legged on the couch, her head leaning back against the plush cushions. Madelyn was beside her, perched on the armrest, her arms crossed in mock defiance.

"I'm just saying," Madelyn said with a roll of her eyes, "Quidditch is overrated. All that flying around just to catch a ball? It's ridiculous."

"Blasphemy," James declared from the other side of the room, his voice muffled as he rummaged through a box of memorabilia. "Quidditch is the greatest sport ever created. It's tradition, Maddie. It's history. It's—"

"Dangerous," Narcissa interjected smoothly from her seat by the window. She was sipping tea, her expression serene but her eyes keen as they flicked between Madelyn and James. "And quite barbaric, if you ask me."

"See? Even Aunt Cissa agrees," Madelyn said, smirking as she leaned toward Lyra. "It's barbaric."

Lyra let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "I don't know, Madelyn. I mean, it's not that bad."

Madelyn gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "Et tu, Lyra?"

James grinned triumphantly, holding up his hands like he was holding a trophy. "She's right, Maddie. You're just bitter because you can't aim for the hoops."

Madelyn stuck her tongue out at him, and Lyra chuckled, the sound lighter than she had expected it to be after the previous night. It felt almost normal—almost.

The sound of the door opening broke the moment. All eyes turned toward the entrance as Harry stepped into the room. He looked exhausted—his eyes bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles, his hair even messier than usual. His clothes were wrinkled, his shirt untucked, and there was a tension in his shoulders that made everyone sit a little straighter.

Lyra's heart clenched painfully at the sight of him. She straightened in her seat, her hands gripping the edge of the cushion.

"Harry," James said, his voice filled with cautious relief. "You're back."

Harry's eyes darted to James briefly before landing on Lyra. His expression was unreadable, a mix of anger, hurt, and something deeper—something raw.

"Where were you all night?" Madelyn asked, concern lacing her voice as she slid off the armrest. "You look—"

"I'm fine," Harry interrupted, his voice clipped. He didn't look at her, his gaze fixed on Lyra.

The room fell silent, the tension so thick it was suffocating. Narcissa set her teacup down with a soft clink, her sharp gaze darting between Lyra and Harry. James stood awkwardly by the box, unsure whether to stay or give them privacy.

Lyra now sat stiffly on the edge of her seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her knuckles white. Harry leaned against the mantelpiece, his eyes fixed on the empty fireplace, his expression hard and distant. He hadn't spoken a word directly to Lyra since he entered.

James, clearly uncomfortable, tried to fill the silence. "Lily is on her way," he said, addressing Harry. "Sirius and Regulus too. They'll be here soon."

Harry gave a curt nod, his jaw tightening. "Good," he said shortly. "We need to deal with the Horcruxes as fast as possible. The longer they're around, the more dangerous things get."

James hesitated, glancing at Lyra before continuing. "Right, yeah, of course. But... maybe we could take a moment? I mean, there's no immediate rush, is there? Everyone's still recovering from yesterday—"

"I don't have time to wait," Harry interrupted coldly, cutting James off. His gaze didn't waver from the fireplace, but his tone was sharp enough to make everyone else in the room flinch. "I need to get back home. I have a newborn orphaned godson to think about."

The words hit Lyra like a slap, but she kept her face carefully neutral. She couldn't let him see how deeply his indifference hurt her. She couldn't let him see her crumble.

Madelyn shifted awkwardly in her seat, her gaze darting between Harry and Lyra. "Uh, a godson?" she asked, clearly trying to ease the tension. "That's... wow, congratulations."

"Thanks," Harry said flatly. He turned his head slightly, his cold green eyes flicking to Lyra. "Yeah, Nymphadora Tonks had a child. A son. Named him Teddy."

Narcissa tilted her head, her expression composed but her eyes sharp. "Andromeda has a grandson in your world?" she said softly, almost to herself. "If only someone could convince Dora to settle down." Her gaze shifted briefly to Lyra, lingering as if she were searching for something in her face.

Harry's gaze snapped to Lyra, his tone biting. "Did you know?" he asked, the question more of an accusation than anything else. "Did you know your cousin gave birth to a child?"

Lyra's throat tightened, and she opened her mouth to respond, but the weight of Harry's icy glare made her falter. "I..." she began, her voice barely audible. "I didn't—"

"Of course you didn't," Harry said, cutting her off. "Why would you? You were too busy deciding what everyone else needed to know. Too busy playing god with people's lives."

"Harry," James said cautiously, stepping forward as if to place himself between them. "Come on, mate. I don't know what is going on between you two, but let's not—"

"Stay out of it, James," Harry snapped, turning his glare on the man who looked like his father. "This has nothing to do with you."

James raised his hands in surrender, taking a step back. "Right. As you say."

Madelyn cleared her throat, her voice hesitant. "Uh, maybe we should—"

"Let him talk," Narcissa said suddenly, her voice calm but firm. She hadn't moved from her spot by the window, her hands resting delicately on the arm of the chair. Her gaze, however, remained on Lyra, her sharp blue eyes scanning the girl's face with an intensity that made Lyra shift uncomfortably.

Harry's gaze flickered to Narcissa for a brief moment, his jaw tightening further. He didn't respond, instead turning his attention back to the fireplace.

The silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive, until James finally couldn't take it anymore. "Look," he said, his tone desperate. "Everyone's had a rough time, okay? Maybe we should just take a breather and—"

"Dad," Madelyn interrupted, her voice low. "Not now."

James glanced at her, then back at Harry and Lyra. He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Fine," he muttered, stepping back toward the doorway. "But this isn't helping anyone."

The tension in the room remained thick, even as James moved to leave. Lyra glanced down at her hands, her chest tight, the weight of Narcissa's gaze pressing down on her like a physical force.

"I think I'll... check on the garden," Madelyn said awkwardly, standing up. She glanced between Harry and Lyra, clearly uncomfortable. "Let you all talk."

As Madelyn followed James out of the room, Narcissa rose gracefully from her chair. She moved toward the door but paused, her sharp gaze flickering to Lyra once more. For a moment, she seemed to hesitate, her lips pressing together in thought. Then, without a word, she stepped out, leaving Harry and Lyra alone.

The door clicked shut, and the silence that followed was deafening. Lyra finally looked up, her eyes meeting Harry's. But his expression was unreadable, his gaze cold and distant.

"Harry..." she began, her voice trembling.

He turned away, his shoulders stiff. "Don't," he said flatly, his tone final. He walked out to the garden too, leaving Lyra all alone.

And just like that, the chasm between them grew even wider.

-III- 

HEY BROTHER, DO YOU STILL BELIEVE IN LOVE I WONDER

The gardens were surprisingly serene. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of blooming roses, and the soft rustle of leaves filled the quiet. Harry sat on the edge of a stone bench, his elbows resting on his knees, staring down at the grass beneath his feet. Madelyn Potter stood a few steps away, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket. The awkward tension between them was almost palpable.

"Mind if I sit?" Madelyn asked after a moment, gesturing to the empty space beside Harry.

He shrugged. "Go ahead."

She sat down, careful to keep some distance between them. For a while, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the occasional chirp of a bird somewhere in the distance.

"Long night?" she asked gently, though her tone carried an edge of knowing.

Harry didn't look up. "You could say that."

Madelyn waited, her gaze fixed on him, before breaking the silence. "You fought with her, didn't you?"

A bitter laugh escaped him, low and humorless. "Is it that obvious?"

"You've been stomping around with that look on your face since I met you two days ago," Madelyn replied. "But today? It's worse. Like you've been hit by something heavier."

Harry sighed, dragging a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "Yeah, well, maybe I have."

She didn't push immediately, giving him space to gather his thoughts. When he didn't continue, she tilted her head slightly. "Want to talk about it?"

Harry shook his head at first, but something in her steady gaze—or maybe just the fact that he hadn't spoken to anyone about it yet—made him reconsider. "I don't even know where to start," he admitted, his voice low. "It's all... too much."

Madelyn adjusted her position, turning to face him more directly. "Start anywhere. I've got time."

He hesitated, the weight of his emotions tangible in the air. "She told me... things. About why she left, about what really happened during the war. Turns out, it didn't play out the way I thought it had. Not even close."

Madelyn's brows furrowed slightly. "That must have been a lot to process."

"You think?" Harry snapped, though the sharpness in his tone wasn't aimed at her. "She decided everything for me—life-altering decisions—without giving me a say. She chose to save me, even if it meant destroying herself in the process, and then she left me to deal with the fallout. How is that fair?"

Madelyn didn't immediately respond, possibly confused, her gaze searching his face but she responded, nonetheless. "I don't think it was about fairness, Harry. I think it was about love. As twisted as her choices may seem, they were probably the only way she knew how to protect you."

Harry's laugh was hollow. "Love? Is that what you call it? Leaving me to think she didn't care? Letting me believe she was gone forever? That's not love. That's cruelty."

Madelyn's voice softened. "Maybe it was both."

He turned to her, his expression pained. "Do you know what it's like to think the person you love more than anything doesn't care? To think they're gone, and there's nothing you can do about it?"

Madelyn held his gaze, her own eyes darkening with a hint of sadness. "I don't know that pain, no. But I know what it's like to grow up without someone you wish you'd had. To hear stories about them and wonder what life could've been if they were there."

Harry blinked, the sharp edge of his anger dulling as he realized what she meant. "You're talking about me."

Madelyn nodded slowly. "You were gone before I was born. My mum and dad used to tell me stories about you—how you were their little best friend, how much they loved you. You were this... hole in their lives, even years later. And I couldn't help but feel like I missed out on someone important."

Harry stared at her, his mind grappling with the idea of a world where he didn't exist beyond a memory. "I didn't know."

"Of course, you didn't." Madelyn offered a faint smile, her tone softening. "You couldn't. But here's the thing: they never stopped loving you. Even though you were gone, you were still such a big part of their lives. And I think... I think that's what Lyra felt, too. Like she was trying to keep you alive in a way she couldn't explain."

Harry swallowed hard, Madelyn's words resonating uncomfortably close to truths he didn't want to confront. "But she's here now," he said, his voice tight. "She's alive, and she still kept it from me. She made me believe I didn't matter."

Madelyn reached out, her hand brushing against his arm. "Maybe she didn't know how to come back from it. Maybe she was scared you wouldn't forgive her."

"Maybe I won't," Harry said harshly, but the tremor in his voice betrayed the uncertainty beneath his anger.

Madelyn didn't flinch. "Maybe you will," she countered gently. "If you loved her as much as you say, maybe you'll find a way to understand. Even if it takes time."

They sat in silence for a long moment, the only sound the faint rustle of the trees in the cool breeze. Finally, Harry spoke, his voice quieter now. "It's hard. Seeing her, hearing her, and knowing what she did... it feels like everything's been ripped open again."

Madelyn nodded, her gaze turning toward the garden. "It's supposed to hurt, Harry. That's how you know it mattered."

He looked at her, his green eyes filled with a mix of pain and gratitude. "You're a lot wiser than I was at fifteen... I was a mess."

Madelyn grinned, the tension between them easing slightly. "Comes with the name, doesn't it? Potter wisdom and all that."

Harry laughed and they sat in the quiet again.

"You're different," Madelyn said finally, breaking the silence. Her tone was light, almost teasing, but there was an undercurrent of curiosity. "From what everyone's told me about you. The Harry Potter I grew up hearing about was... well, he was a hero. A baby legend."

Harry huffed a humorless laugh, his eyes still on the ground. "Yeah, well, legends tend to leave out the messy bits."

Madelyn glanced at him sideways, studying his profile. "I guess you and I have that in common," she said softly. "Everyone thinks they know me too. Because of who my parents are. Because of you. Because of... Lyra."

At the mention of Lyra's name, Harry stiffened. He straightened up, his jaw tightening, but he didn't say anything.

"She told me about you, you know," Madelyn continued, her gaze distant. "Your Lyra, I mean. The one from your world."

Harry's throat tightened. "What did she say?"

Madelyn shrugged, a wistful smile tugging at her lips. "That you were stubborn. Brave. Loyal to a fault. She admired you. Looked up to you, even though she'd never admit it. And she missed you—every single day."

The words hit Harry like a punch to the gut. He closed his eyes, trying to push down the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. "I missed her too," he admitted quietly. "Every day."

Harry leaned back, looking up at the sky. "What was she like?" he asked suddenly. "Your Lyra?"

Madelyn's smile turned wistful. "She was fierce. Brilliant. Always had something to say, even if it got her into trouble. She was... she was my best friend."

Harry nodded, his chest tightening. "Sounds like her."

Madelyn glanced at him, her brow furrowing slightly. "What about your Lyra? What is she really like?"

He closed his eyes, the memories rushing back in vivid detail. "She is... everything. Brave, stubborn, infuriating. She always had this way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered. And she... she cared so much. Too much, maybe." His voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat.

"I think it's in the 'How to be Lyra' handbook." Madelyn smiled.

Harry chuckled softly, the tension between them easing. "You're not what I expected, you know," he said after a moment. "Not that I really knew what to expect."

Madelyn raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted, shaking his head. "You're James and Lily's kid and so am I, but you grew up with them. That's... incredible. But it's also strange. Like I'm intruding on something that doesn't belong to me."

Madelyn considered his words, her expression thoughtful. "Maybe it's not about whether it belongs to you. Maybe it's about what you do with it now that you're here."

Harry stared at her, surprised by the wisdom in her words. "You're smarter than me, that's for sure."

"Obviously," she said, smirking. "I didn't have You-know-who chasing me every year. Just my parents nagging me about my grades."

"Lucky you," Harry muttered, but his tone was lighter this time.

Madelyn stood, stretching her arms. "You'll figure it out," she said confidently.

-IV-

HELLO FUTURE FATHER-IN-LAW, LET’S CHAT

It had only been fifteen minutes since the heavy silence of the room had engulfed them, but to Lyra, it felt like hours. She stood by the window, watching the fading light of the day cast long shadows across the garden, her thoughts a swirling mess of regret, anger, and uncertainty. She hadn't expected it to be easy, but she also hadn't expected him to walk away so quickly.

The door clicked shut behind him, the sound echoing through the house. The faint rustling of leaves from outside carried in with the breeze, the air cooling rapidly as the last traces of sunlight dipped beneath the horizon. Lyra's chest tightened, and she found herself clenching her fists, her heart racing despite the stillness of the room.

She hadn't meant for things to get so complicated. She had just wanted to explain—to make Harry understand why she had done what she did, why she had stayed away. But every time she tried to speak, the words felt wrong, like they weren't enough to cover the vast space that had opened up between them.

For a moment, she allowed herself to lean against the window frame, her eyes fixed on the garden below. She could hear faint voices drifting in from the distance, but they were distant, just like how her and Harry were.

She jumped slightly when the door creaked open, not expecting anyone else. It was James, looking somewhat disheveled, his eyes scanning the room before they landed on her. He seemed surprised to find her standing there alone, but he quickly masked it with a small, easy smile.

"Forgot my wand on the couch," he said, his voice light. But the moment his eyes lingered on her, he seemed to pause, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. He raised an eyebrow. "Everything okay?"

Lyra didn't immediately answer. She wanted to say something, to explain, but the words felt like they were caught in her throat. She had been fighting so hard to keep everything together, but the weight of the moment was suffocating. She turned back to the window, her hands pressing against the cool glass. "I'm fine."

James didn't buy it. He stepped further into the room, his gaze never leaving her. "Lyra," he said gently, his voice low and patient, "what happened? You and Harry were supposed to talk, right?"

"He left before I could even get a word in," she smiled bitterly.

James's expression shifted, a subtle tension crossing his face. He stepped closer, his tone softening. "Lyra..." he began, his voice tinged with concern. "What happened? I thought you two were making progress. I talked to Harry a few nights ago, he seemed hopeful."

Lyra's gaze didn't waver from the garden below, her fingers tracing patterns against the glass. "I thought so too," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I wanted to explain, to make him understand... But every time I tried, it felt like the words were wrong. Like they were never going to be enough."

James took another step closer, standing beside her by the window. He didn't push her, but there was an understanding in the way he studied her. "I know it's not easy, but I'm sure Harry wants to understand, too," he said gently, his voice steady but filled with a quiet empathy.

"I don't know anymore," Lyra confessed, her voice trembling slightly. "It's like... it's like everything I say only makes things worse. He's so distant. Every time I look at him, I feel like I'm seeing a stranger. I don't know how we got here."

James nodded, his eyes scanning her face as he absorbed her words. "He's stubborn," he said after a moment, his tone a bit lighter, "and if he is anything like me, he will just tend to shut down when things get too complicated. But I think deep down, he cares more than you realize. He's just trying to make sense of everything."

Lyra turned slightly, her eyes meeting his. "I don't know how much more I can take. I can't keep chasing after him, James. It's exhausting."

James didn't immediately respond. He could see the weight of her frustration, the pain that had been building inside her for so long. He placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch reassuring yet firm. "You don't have to chase after him. Not anymore. Sometimes the hardest part is letting go, even for just a little while. You have to give him space to figure it out. And maybe you do too."

Lyra's chest tightened at his words. Letting go? How could she, when everything felt so fragile? "I just wanted him to know... I never wanted to hurt him," she murmured, the guilt weighing heavily in her chest.

"I know you didn't," James replied, his voice steady. "But sometimes people get hurt anyway, no matter how much we try to protect them. It doesn't mean it's over. It just means you both need to figure out how to move forward."

Lyra looked out the window again, her gaze unfocused. The sun had nearly set now, the last remnants of daylight slipping away, leaving the garden bathed in a soft, golden light. "I don't know where we go from here," she admitted, her voice small.

James sighed, his hand giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Neither of you does. But the thing about Harry—he's resilient. And so are you. It might take time, but you'll figure it out. I'm sure of it."

A quiet moment passed between them, the only sound the distant rustling of the trees in the garden. Lyra stayed silent, her thoughts racing. She didn't know what the future held, but for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to feel a small spark of hope.

"Thank you, James," she said softly, looking up at him. "I'm not sure I could have kept going without hearing that."

He gave her a small, reassuring smile. "Anytime, Lyra. I know it's hard right now, but don't lose faith in him. Or in yourself."

Lyra nodded slowly, her mind still clouded with uncertainty. But for the first time that day, she felt like maybe she wasn't completely alone in this.