6

The prison was silent, save for the faint drip of water somewhere in the distance. The torches along the corridor burned low, casting flickering shadows on the damp stone walls. It was late—long past the time when most would bother coming down here.

But I wasn’t most people.

I wasn’t sure why I was here again, standing in front of Lyra Ellwood’s cell.

I had no reason to be.

The order had already been given. At dawn, I would take her to the execution grounds. I would do what I had always done. What I was supposed to do.

And yet, here I was.

Watching her.

Again.

Lyra was sitting on the floor, her back against the cold stone wall. Her legs were drawn up, her arms wrapped loosely around them. She wasn’t sleeping, but she wasn’t fully awake either—more like she was existing in that strange, numb space between exhaustion and resignation.

At the sound of my boots against the stone floor, her head lifted.

Her golden-brown eyes met mine, hazy at first before sharpening, coming alive.

She straightened, slowly unfolding her arms. "You again."

Her voice was hoarse, like she hadn’t spoken in hours. But there was no weakness in it. No fear.

I didn’t respond.

Instead, I reached into my pocket, pulled out a small piece of bread, and tossed it through the bars.

She didn’t move. Didn’t even look at it.

"Trying to ease your guilt, executioner?" she asked, arching a single dark brow.

My jaw tightened. "Eat."

She tilted her head, studying me in the dim light. "Why? So I have the strength to stand when you march me to my death tomorrow?"

I didn’t answer.

Because I wasn’t sure what the answer was.

She let out a slow, humorless laugh and leaned back against the wall again, making no move toward the food. "Save it for someone who actually has a future."

I exhaled through my nose, forcing away the irritation creeping up my spine. "Starving yourself isn’t going to change anything."

"Neither is eating."

A heavy silence stretched between us.

She wasn’t wrong.

I had seen this before. The prisoners who knew they were going to die. Some fought. Some begged. Some fell into quiet acceptance.

But Lyra wasn’t any of those.

She was angry.

Even now, with nothing left, with no one fighting for her, with death waiting at the edge of dawn—she was still fighting.

Not with violence. Not with desperation.

But with defiance.

That same defiance that had burned in her eyes in the judgment hall.

That same fire that had made me pause when I should have walked away.

I took a slow step closer to the bars. "You said you didn’t do it."

Her eyes flashed. "I didn’t."

I studied her carefully, watching for the telltale signs of deception. The flicker of hesitation. The shift in body language. The heartbeat that gave away a lie.

I saw none of it.

Only certainty. Only truth.

"You expect me to believe that?" I asked.

She let out a slow breath, then looked at me—really looked at me.

"Do you?" she murmured.

The question sent something sharp twisting in my gut.

I should have said no.

Should have dismissed it entirely.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I found myself thinking.

Something was wrong about this. I knew it.

The stolen seal. The letters written in her handwriting. The supposed meeting with the Blood Moon spy.

It was all too convenient. Too perfect.

And Lyra Ellwood wasn’t stupid.

If she had been a traitor, she wouldn’t have been so careless.

I frowned, my hands curling into fists at my sides. "If not you, then who?"

She let out a bitter laugh. "That’s the real question, isn’t it?"

Silence.

I held her gaze, feeling the weight of it settle deep in my bones.

I didn’t want to be here.

I didn’t want to be thinking about this. About her.

I should have just followed my orders. I should have left her to rot, to break apart like so many others had in these cells.

But she wasn’t breaking.

She was still fighting.

And against all reason, all logic, I didn’t want her to lose.

I turned sharply, stepping back from the bars. "Get some rest."

Her lips curled. "So I can look well-rested at my execution?"

I said nothing.

I turned, my boots echoing as I walked away.

But just as I reached the stairway, her voice followed me.

Soft.

Steady.

"You don’t believe them, do you?"

I didn’t stop.

I didn’t answer.

Because if I did…

I wasn’t sure I’d be able to ignore the truth anymore.