Should have known better.
Still, I made it and in record time, no less. That’s something.
Okay, Ash-dried Dragon Scale, get in, get out, no more issues today. I take two steps forward?—
And stop.
The world jerks to a halt, air locking in my chest as the realisation slams through me.
White. Crisp. Uniforms.
Five. No—six.
Citadel officers.
Shit.
They’re already moving in. Fan-like, precise. No shouting, no wasted motion. They don’t need to speak when every step says the same thing: you’re trapped.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Okay, think, Lyra, how the hell are you getting out of this one?
A familiar pressure sparks under my skin, my Threads, my magic, flaring to life. Hot, angry and fucking useless.
The officers continue to close in. Silent,trained.
And I’m not.
Not like that, not likethem.
I clamp down on the rising surge, drag in a steadying breath, and shove it hard beneath the surface before it can blow. Because power isn’t the problem, control is, and I don’t know what would happen if I let go right now.
I stare them down as they step in closer. Six trained killers versus one half-trained mess.
I could run, maybe? There’s a narrow alley to my left, half-blocked with crates. Bet my life on speed? Or I let go, let my magic out right here? Take them out—and maybe myself with them.
I grit my teeth, everything in me lifting too fast, too hard, like my body’s already bracing for the hit.
Shit. Neither option’s good. But blowing myself up? That’s a guarantee. Running? I might make it.
The officers press in closer, I shift my weight, knees flexed, ready to bolt?—
But my Threads spike anyway. Too fast. Too much. Magic slams through my veins like a scream with nowhere to go. My fingers twitch. My vision warps at the edges. The air thickens, charged and tense, and god, Ican’tpush it back down.
The officers flinch. One of them reaches for something. Behind them, something red glints.
Hold. Breathe. Wait. This isn’t the plan. I’m supposed to run not start a losing fight.
But my Threads don’t care. They surge, hot, wild, like a blade I can’t sheath. Static lifting the hairs on my arms as I clamp down hard, everything in me locking tight, trying desperately to hold the line.
But it’s too late. My hands fly up, fast, uncontrolled,stupid.
Then—
“Now, there’s really no need for that.”
The voice is calm, precise, and suddenly everything in me stills. Magic freezes mid-surge, choking off so fast my body jolts from the absence. Like something yanked it back. Hard.
My head snaps toward the voice as a figure steps out from behind the officers.
