Chapter 4 A SPARK IN THE DARK

[Lyra's POV]

The stone under me is still cold. I sit with my knees pulled up, arms tight around them. I listen for sounds. Most of the time, I hear nothing. Sometimes I hear water drip from the ceiling. Sometimes I hear footsteps above, heavy and quick, but they fade away.

The quiet is heavy, like a weight on my chest.I try to remember the last time I saw the sun. I simpy cannot. Its warmth is a ghost in my mind. I try to remember the last time someone called me by my name, not traitor. I cannot.

The word stings, sharp like a blade. I touch the wall and count the marks I scratched with a jagged stone. Each one is a day, or maybe a night. I lose count. I start again.My stomach hurts. I am hungry all the time. The bread they give me is hard, like chewing rocks. The water is stale, never enough. My throat burns, raw and dry.

I dream about food-roast deer, fresh apples, warm bread slathered with honey. Lila and I used to steal honey from Old Mara's kitchen. We would laugh, our hands sticky, and run to the river to wash. Now I do not laugh. I do not run.

I think about my mother. Leah was always strong, her hands rough but kind. She held me when I was small, her voice soft as she told stories about wolves and the moon. "The moon binds us," she said. "It calls our blood." She left to help a scout wounded in a rogue attack, like she always did when the pack needed her. I wish she was here. I wish her voice could break this silence.I think about my sister. My mother said she was lost, taken before I could know her.

Sometimes I dream about her. She has my eyes, green and fierce. She calls my name, Lyra, her voice desperate. I reach for her, but I wake up, my hands empty.

I press my back to the wall. I close my eyes. I try to call my wolf. She is quiet, deep inside me. She feels far away, like a friend who turned their back.

I count the cracks in the wall. I count my heartbeats, slow and steady. I count the days, but I lose track. Sometimes I talk to myself, my voice hoarse. I talk to my wolf. I talk to the darkness. No one answers. I scratch more marks into the wall. I start over when I lose count.

One night, the door opens. It is not Bran, the guard. It is Mira, my friend. Her dark hair is tied back, her face pale in the dim light. She moves fast, closing the door behind her. She kneels beside me, her breath quick. She gives me a piece of bread, still warm, and a tin cup of water. I take them with shaking hands.

"Eat," she whispers. "Quick." I tear into the bread, its crust tough but soft inside. I drink the water, cold and sharp. It hurts my throat, but I do not care.

Mira glances at the door, her eyes wide. "Not everyone believes Lila's lies," she whispers. "Some still trust you, Lyra. Hold on. Just hold on." I nod.

My chest aches. I want to cry, but my eyes stay dry."Do you know when my mother will come back?" I ask, my voice small. Mira shakes her head, her lips tight. "No one knows. Some say she is coming back soon, with herbs from the northern valleys. Some say storms trapped her in the mountains."

I swallow hard, a lump in my throat. Leah is out there, somewhere. I need her.

Mira presses something into my hand. It is a small piece of cloth, folded tight. There is a mark on it-a crescent moon, stitched in silver thread. I know it from my mother's stories. It is our family's sign, passed down through generations.

"Hide it," Mira says, her voice urgent. "Someone wanted you to have it. I do not know who." I close my fist around the cloth, my heart pounding. Could it be Leah? Or someone else, watching from the shadows?

Mira leans close, her voice barely a breath. "People are scared, Lyra. Not just about you. Strangers have been seen near the border, humans from the villages beyond the forest. They come at night, leaving things behind-animal bones, carved with strange marks, like warnings. Some think it is a curse. The elders are restless. They whisper about a group called the Pure. They hate us, wolves and vampires alike. They want to burn our kind from the earth."

I hold the cloth tight, its edges rough against my palm. A spark flickers inside me-hope, small but fierce. But fear follows, cold and sharp. The Pure. I heard stories as a child, tales of humans who hunted supernaturals with silver and fire. I thought they were gone. Now they feel too close.

Mira's eyes meet mine, soft but fierce. "There is talk in the pack," she says. "Some say the elders are hiding something, a prophecy about twins born of forbidden blood. They fear it. They fear you."

Her words hit like a stone. A prophecy? My sister's face flashes in my mind, her eyes calling me.

Mira stands, her shadow tall against the wall. "I have to go," she whispers. "They will notice I am gone. Do not give up, Lyra. Please."

She slips out the door, her footsteps fading. The darkness closes in again, heavy and thick.

I press the cloth to my chest. I close my eyes. I think about my mother, her stories of the moon. I think about my sister, her voice in my dreams.

I whisper, "For Mom. For the sister I have never met. I will not let them break me."I sit down. I press the cloth to my heart. I call to my wolf. She is still there, weak but alive. I whisper, "Do not leave me."I try to shift. I close my eyes. I reach for my wolf. Pain goes through me, like fire in my bones. My nails grow, sharp and curved, but that is all. My body shakes. I fall to the floor, my breath ragged. My wolf whimpers, faint but there.

I whisper, "I am still here."

I scratch another mark into the wall. I count the marks.

I wait for morning.

A spark is small, but it can start a fire. I will hold on to my spark. I will wait for my time.