Lyra
The cold evening air bit at my cheeks as I walked out of the cafe.
My phone vibrated in my pocket almost immediately, and frowning, I pulled it out.
Missed calls. Dozens of them. All from Liam.
I stared at the screen for a long moment, thumb hovering over. A part of me wanted to ignore it, to leave him waiting, let him stew in the worry he clearly felt. But another part of me wanted to answer, wanted to hear his voice, even though I knew it would only stir more anger inside me.
I pressed the green button.
“Lyra?” His voice came through, a hint of worry lacing it. “Where are you?”
“Somewhere.”
I heard a hiss. Then, in a sharp, almost accusing tone, he said. “You didn’t take any of the guards with you.”
I almost retorted, but stopped myself. I didn’t owe him any explanations.
