Lyra's POV
Alaric circled around me with deliberate steps, tilting his head toward the interior of the manor as a silent command to follow. His polished leather shoes echoed against the hardwood floors with each measured stride. Without hesitation, I kicked off my salt-crusted boots, unwilling to track dirt through what was clearly a pristine home. My stocking-covered feet whispered against the floor as I trailed behind him.
He guided me into a dining room that made the grand foyer seem modest by comparison. An ancient oak table dominated the space, its surface gleaming with centuries of careful polish. Behind the imposing head chair, flames danced and crackled in a massive stone fireplace, casting warm shadows across the heavy silence that filled the air.