Chapter 1 My Return

• Lyra's POV
• Before I opened my eyes, I took a moment to savor the air—crisp, clean, and gently laced with the fading warmth of summer. The early breath I drew felt friendly, familiar, and full of home. Autumn was creeping in; I could feel it in the slight chill brushing against my skin.
• I smiled before I could see anything. Even with my vision still adjusting, I could make out the familiar shapes in my room: the wooden cupboard next to my bed, the dangling yellow bulb swaying from its worn wire above. I had to be careful not to hit it when I stretched.
• So, I did.
• Golden shafts of light streamed through the gaps in my window, casting soft halos on the walls. One patch landed on the painting of a lion and her cub in the corner—my favorite animal so I turned it into a mural. Another highlighted the small wooden box I kept beside my bed, the one housing one of my most important possessions: a .38 special revolver.
• Aside from a full-length mirror I’d hung beside the door, my room lacked any girlish charm. Then again, how many seventeen-year-old girls kept a gun in a box in their room?
• Still, it was good to be home.
• My grandfather raised me like a ranger, like a rancher, and like someone who had to be ready for anything. I started riding horses at seven; by ten, I was fast enough to challenge grown men. On my fifteenth birthday, he gave me Clover—a striking white horse with wild eyes and a gentle soul. A gift I treasured more than anything.
• Grandpa wasn’t just family. He was a parent, my mentor, my safe place. And today—today was his birthday.
• I tossed back the covers and planted my feet on the leathery floor—only to find it slick and wet.
• “Ugh!” I yelped, losing my balance. My legs splayed awkwardly as I hit the ground, pain shooting up my thigh and hip before settling in my knees. I lay there for a moment, groaning softly while the ache simmered down.
• When I finally stood, I walked to the window and twisted my neck to the left to peer outside. The sun was low, casting a crimson hue over the fields, bathing our little town in warm light. A soft breeze stirred the trees, and birdsong floated in from afar—joyful, effortless, and nostalgic. It stirred something deep in me, something the city had buried under its noise and pressure.
• I opened the creaking wooden door and stepped out into the hallway. As I descended the stairs, I was met with a low hum of chatter and laughter.
• The living room was full—men, women, and children talking in cozy groups. I offered smiles and quick apologies for being late.
• Three familiar faces burst through the entryway: Emily, twenty and always energetic; Josephine, just a few months younger than me with a sharp tongue; and Abigail, the quietest of us, at sixteen.
• “We’re setting up a beef barbecue on the balcony,” Emily chirped, her emerald eyes sparkling. “Grandpa asked us to handle it. But we’re short on charcoal.”
• I frowned. “Didn’t Grandpa store some in the backyard shed?”
• Josephine shook her head. “The fire destroyed it two months ago. Most of the supplies were destroyed. The little we had left was used up this morning.”
• Aby and Josephine nodded in confirmation.
• “What now?” I asked.
• “We’re thinking Josephine and I will head to the mountain woods,” Emily replied. “There are coal deposits up there.”
• I looked between them and then at Abigail, who had remained quiet.
• “She’s staying behind,” Emily explained. “Someone’s got to manage the barbecue heat. Everything’s got to be just right.”
• I raised a brow. “And what exactly am I supposed to do while you all have your parts?”
• They exchanged glances and then laughed softly.
• “You,” Josephine said, “are going to stay put and let us do the heavy lifting. Today’s for your grandpa. Relax.”
• “Oh, please,” I huffed. “His birthday, not mine. Can you hear yourselves?”
• I folded my arms. “I’ve missed hiking the hills, galloping with Clover, visiting Lake Oswego. I want to do something. Not sit around being babysat like a princess. Right, Abigail?”
• “Ugh,” Abigail replied, furrowing her brows. She rarely said much—she preferred silence to revealing her stutter.
• Emily tried to interject. “But—”
• “But nothing.” I cut her off with a sharp glare, though the frustration in my chest wasn’t aimed at them. No one needed to feel bad today.
• I sighed. Their concern was genuine. I could feel it in the softness of Emily’s voice and the glances they shared. They wanted to spare me from stress. Sweet, but unnecessary.
• “You know what?” I grinned, wrapping my arms dramatically around Emily’s neck. “You’re going to stay behind and watch the beef while we go charcoal hunting. You’ve always been the kitchen queen anyway.”
• Emily burst into laughter, shaking her head as if to say, you win. I darted upstairs to change, the girls following suit. I hadn’t seen Grandpa yet, but I was sure I would once we returned.
• I drove his old truck—it was faster and had enough room to carry the coal. I parked under a grove of trees, the rocky terrain making further driving impossible. After a quick inspection of the tires, I turned to my friends.
• “This is as far as we go. From here, it’s boots and muscle. Abigail, grab the shovels and the bag.”
• Abigail obeyed. The crunch of dried leaves beneath our feet harmonized with the soft hush of the wind as we hiked.
• “Whoa!” I stumbled, nearly twisting my ankle in a hidden ditch.
• “Watch it,” Josephine called. “Don’t break your leg. No boyfriend’s coming to rescue you.”
• “Sorry,” Abigail muttered with a grin.
• “Maybe we could call Ethan,” I teased, glancing at Josephine. “He’d be delighted to help.”
• Josephine rolled her eyes. “Ethan and I are ancient history. I’ve forgotten the name.”
• “Since when?”
• “Since I heard he was cheating.”
• “Heard?” I asked, raising a brow. “From who?”
• “Forget the source.”
• I snorted. “Tell me you're sixteen without telling me you're sixteen.”
• “What are you implying?” she snapped. “Emily and Abigail know too. I’m not bluffing.”
• “Ugh,” Abigail said quickly, shaking her head. “Nope. No idea.”
• That broke me. I burst into laughter. Abigail’s instant denial—cool and clear—was comedy gold.
• Josephine scowled at her. “Really?”
• “Josephine,” I said, still catching my breath, “we don’t have to always agree with you. And Abigail doesn’t owe you loyalty in gossip.”
• “But she’s heard this before!”
• “Which is exactly why it’s impressive she didn’t side with you this time. That kind of clarity might save your butt someday.”
• Josephine huffed. “Save my ass, my foot.”
• She stomped past us, shovel in hand, and marched ahead.
• Abigail flashed a sheepish smile. We let Josephine lead for a bit—until she realized she had no idea where she was going. Quietly, I took the lead again.
• After fifteen silent minutes, we found it—the old coal deposit.
• A shallow cave opened like an arch on the side of the mountain. Thick, tangled tree roots draped over its mouth like webs. A fallen red cedar, massive and ancient, lay across the ground, forcing us to climb over.
• We made it inside.
• “Wow,” Abigail whispered, her voice hushed by the weight of the dark. “Here… it’s quiet.”