Chapter One - The Star That Stayed
Lyra's POV
They say senior year feels like the last summer night before a storm.
You can feel it - the stillness before everything changes, the air heavy with something you can't name.
That's how it felt standing in front of Saint Valley High again.
The same ivy crawling over the brick walls. The same golden crest faded from years of sun.
But somehow, everything looked smaller - like the memories I'd outgrown were still trying to fit.
"Lyra!"
Aveline's voice snapped me out of it. She waved from across the lot, her dark curls bouncing, her hand intertwined with Cassian's like always. Soraya and Saphira followed behind, their laughter floating through the morning air.
For a second, it almost felt like freshman year again - before everything got too real. Before grief and promises and growing up got in the way.
I smiled back, tugging the silver star that hung from my neck. It caught the sunlight, glinting like it always did. The chain had faded a little, the corners dulled, but I never took it off. Not once.
Evan gave it to me the day I turned fifteen - a tiny silver star with a note that said "for my Sol - so you never forget how bright you are."
He was away this week, out of state for preseason training. I'd promised I'd call when I got home. He'd promised he'd listen to every detail of my "big first day as a senior."
It's funny how a necklace can become a timeline.
Every scratch, every shine, every time it tangled in my hair - it all told a story I couldn't stop wearing.
Aveline threw her arms around me when I reached them.
"Last first day," she said, half sighing, half grinning. "Can you believe it?"
"Barely."
Cassian ruffled my hair like an annoying older brother, and Soraya handed me a coffee cup that read Clover's Café - where mistakes taste sweet.
I laughed. "You didn't."
"Oh, we did," Saphira smirked. "Tradition. First-day caffeine. Last-year chaos."
For a few minutes, everything was loud and warm - the way high school was supposed to feel.
And then the bell rang.
And for some reason, my heart sank a little.
Maybe it was the way the halls looked exactly the same - the same trophy case, the same bulletin board, even the same flickering light by the stairs.
Maybe it was the quiet fear that this was it - that the next time I'd stand here, it would already be over.
We walked down the corridor together, and for the briefest moment, I caught our reflections in the glass.
Six of us. Older, taller, tired in ways we weren't before.
But still trying to hold on to something we'd built years ago.
What I didn't know then - as the star on my necklace caught the light again -
was that this year would burn brighter than any before it.
And maybe, just maybe, that same light would be the thing that broke me first.