Lyra's POV
His lips were warm, soft, and the kiss—though unexpected—was filled with desperation. My desperation.
I wasn't kissing him because I wanted to. I kissed him because I needed to.
I needed to feel something—anything—other than fear.
I needed to drown out the scent that haunted me, the panic that suffocated me.
And for that fleeting moment, Kellan became my anchor.
When I finally pulled back, my breaths were ragged. I opened my eyes slowly, afraid of what I would see.
Kellan's expression was a mixture of shock and confusion. His dark eyes searched mine, silently asking a thousand questions I didn't have answers to.
"Lyra…" he whispered, but my name hung between us, unfinished, as if he didn't know how to continue.
I swallowed hard, stepping back, realizing the weight of what I had just done.
"I—I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice barely audible. My hands dropped from his shirt, and a wave of guilt washed over me.