Chapter 8 Smoke and Shadows

The cathedral was no longer a battlefield. It was a grave.

Moonlight filtered through the fractured dome, casting quiet rays on the broken pews and bloodied floor. The heat of war had faded into a haunting stillness-ashes drifting like snowfall, the only sound the wind whistling through shattered stone. Lyra stood at the center, shoulders heavy with exhaustion. Her dagger hung loose in her hand, its silver stained crimson. Around her, the survivors gathered the wounded, cleared the dead. No one spoke unless necessary. Grief had claimed their voices. She hadn't shifted fully during the fight, but her body ached like she had. Every bone, every nerve. Her palms still glowed faintly from the power she had summoned. It hadn't left her. It clung like a second skin. Cassian was gone.

Fled, not defeated. She hadn't killed him. Not yet. But she had drawn his blood-and that meant everything .Damon approached from her left, wiping a smear of dirt from his brow. His clothes were torn, his knuckles raw, but his gaze was steady. "You should rest. Lyra turned to him slowly. "I can't. Not yet." "You just nearly bled out your soul in front of a demigod. You've earned a break." She shook her head. "People died for me. For this." "And you made sure the rest lived." His voice was gentle, but firm. "You don't have to carry their ghosts alone." Lyra looked at him then, truly looked. There was no armor left between them. Just bruised skin, tired eyes, and a bond neither of them fully understood-but both felt growing stronger every second. Before she could reply, a familiar voice cut through the stillness. "Well, well. Didn't think I'd be caught this soon." Marcus.

Two rogues dragged him into the center of the room, blood trailing behind them. He didn't resist. His smirk was half-hearted, the kind that belonged more to guilt than pride. Lyra moved forward, her expression cold. "You killed your own," she said. "Why? He gave a half shrug. "Everyone's loyal until the right deal comes along. "And what did Cassian promise you?" she asked. "Power? A pack? Your name on something more than dust? "He promised me survival," Marcus said, eyes dark. "And honestly? You were a risk. You still are." Lyra stepped closer. "That's your excuse?" He flinched-not at her words, but at the tone behind them.

She raised her hand, magic stirring at her fingertips. But Damon stepped in between them. "Don't," he said quietly. "He betrayed us." "And he'll answer for it," Damon replied. "But not like this. We don't become them." Lyra's breath caught. The truth of that stopped her.

They couldn't win this war by becoming the monsters they fought. She lowered her hand slowly, the glow fading. "Take him to the cells," she said. "He'll stand trial when the time comes."

The guards nodded, dragging Marcus away.

When the room cleared again, silence returned. Lyra sat heavily on a cracked bench. Her fingers trembled as she wiped blood from her lip. Damon joined her, just close enough to feel his warmth. "I meant what I said," he murmured. "You don't have to do this alone." She turned her head toward him. "Then don't let me." He didn't smile. He didn't need to. His hand found hers, rough and warm, and for the first time in what felt like days, she let herself breathe. Not everything was lost. Some things... were just beginning.