*The library garden only bloomed at midnight.
Cael waited, half in moonlight, holding a book she hadn’t asked for.
He felt her before he saw her.
Lyra.
She stepped close, reaching for the book.*
“You knew I’d come,” *she whispered.
He nodded.* “You don’t have to believe in prophecy,” he said. “It already believes in you.”
*Her fingers brushed his.
A spark—real.
And for Cael, that was enough.
A beginning. Or something ancient, waking up.*
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