The rhythmic padding of paws against stone faded into the distance as Kaelen and Seraphina raced through the streets of Silverholm, two wolves—one midnight black and one rose-gold—weaving through the crystalline city. I watched them disappear around a corner, a bittersweet ache blooming in my chest.
"They look happy," I murmured, more to myself than anyone else.
"Lyra?"
I startled at the deep voice beside me. Ronan Thorne had approached so quietly I hadn't noticed him. His green eyes—so like his brother's but somehow softer—were studying me with unexpected intensity.
"Sorry," I said, forcing a smile. "I was just watching them."
Ronan followed my gaze to where Seraphina and Kaelen had vanished. "Your sister has adapted remarkably well to being a wolf."
"She always adapts well to everything," I replied, unable to keep the edge from my voice. I immediately regretted it. "I didn't mean—"
