Inigo returned to Amber's Hearth after walking Lyra home, his steps light and his thoughts all over the place. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a soft silver glow across the cobblestone streets. His heart was still racing—not from battle, not from fear—but from something far more terrifying: romance.
He had sung. Actually sung. In public.
And it worked.
His lips curled into a grin the moment he stepped into his room. The door shut behind him with a soft thud, muffling the sounds of the city. He collapsed onto the bed and stared at the wooden ceiling, one arm behind his head.
God, I actually sang Somebody to You in front of people who don't even know what pop music is. He cringed. A little. But at the same time, the memory of Lyra's expression—the softness in her eyes, the kiss she gave him—wiped away any lingering embarrassment.
"That's a win," he murmured to himself. "That's a damn win."
