Lyra's POV
My eyes drifted to the small window high above us again. The darkness pressed against the glass like something alive, something that wanted in. I couldn't see anything beyond it. No moon, no stars, nothing that might tell me what time it was or if time even mattered in this place.
When I looked down, my gaze fell on the woman sitting across from me. She held herself so still it made my chest ache. She was there but not there, like someone who had learned to exist without really living.
That's when I saw her wrists.
The scars were old but unmistakable. Thin white lines that caught the dim light, telling a story I didn't want to read. My stomach dropped as the meaning hit me, sudden and brutal.
I turned to look at the younger version of my mother standing in the doorway. I didn't ask the question out loud, but it hung between us anyway.
