Lyra Dracorider's Arc

Chapter 8 of 15

Lyra spent the next morning cataloging what remained in her supply room. Brighton dozed near the window, his scales catching the pale light. She was counting rolls of gauze when footsteps crunched through the snow outside—quick, purposeful, heading straight for the door. She looked up just as Matthew Sharpclaw knocked twice and pushed inside without waiting. He had a crystal orb in one hand, its facets catching the winter light that filtered through the doorway. "Lyra. Sorry to arrive unannounced, but I found something injured near the ridge and I need—" He stopped mid-sentence. Brighton had lifted his head from the windowsill, scales flaring slightly at the sudden intrusion. Matthew's gaze moved from the basilisk to Lyra, then back again. "You're keeping a basilisk now?" Lyra set down the gauze and stepped between Matthew and Brighton instinctively. She needed to explain this without triggering Brighton's threat response or making Matthew think she'd lost control of her hospital. "He chose to stay," she said, keeping her voice low and steady. "I released him twice. He came back both times." Matthew didn't move closer, but his expression shifted—not alarm, just assessment. "That's not standard protocol," he said carefully. Lyra met his eyes. "No. It's not." She could feel Brighton watching them both, could hear the faint scrape of his claws against the floor as he adjusted his position. Matthew was standing exactly where the light fell through the open door, framed against a patch of snow outside that marked the spot like a stage. There was no deflecting this, no minimizing it. Brighton was here. Matthew had seen him. And whatever came next would depend on what she said right now. Lyra hummed—low, steady, the same rhythm she'd used every day since Brighton arrived. The basilisk's scales smoothed, and he settled back down by the window. Matthew watched the exchange without speaking, and when Brighton's breathing evened out, Matthew exhaled slowly. "You've bonded with it," he said. Not a question. Lyra nodded once. Matthew turned the crystal orb over in his hand, then set it carefully on the table between them. "I brought this for the injured creature I found. But I think I need to ask you something else first." He paused, weighing his words. "If you're keeping him, you'll need to register him. And that means explaining to the council why a rehabilitation hospital is housing a permanent resident." Lyra felt the weight of the choice settle over her like snow. She could send Brighton away to avoid the scrutiny, or she could stand here and admit what she'd already known for days—that her work had changed, and she had changed with it. "I'll register him," she said. Matthew nodded, his expression softening just slightly. "Then I'll help you with the paperwork. But first—let's deal with what's in this orb."