LYRA'S POV
My feet fail me, and I nearly tumble backward, but I grab onto the couch, stopping myself from falling.
I wrap my palm over my mouth and scream into it while shaking my head vigorously. No, no, no.
"Cas," I let go of my mouth and scream his name, forcing my feet to back away from the sight before me.
I look at the clawed couch, foam spilling out of the holes. She must have been struggling to get away from whoever wanted to murder her. No wonder this place is a mess. She must have fought hard to survive, but they didn't give up. They didn't spare her. The wounds are fresh, and her blood hasn't dried up yet. There is a split in her throat, bruises on her hand as if she had been held by a rope.
Who could have done such a thing—
I barely have time to complete my thought when a light flashes through my eyes from something behind her. My breath is the only sound I can hear as I take hesitant steps forward, forcing myself to stop crying.
