The False Heart Attack

Here it went again.

Lyra stared down at the weeping woman on the floor, her expression an unreadable mask of ice, though her blood simmered beneath the surface. Selene was framing her for something she didn’t do. Again. It was a play straight out of her tired, pathetic playbook. Back at the Argent Edge Pack, Lyra had suffered endlessly because of Selene’s relentless smearing. Every spilled cup,