He takes a step forward. My heart kicks hard, I reach for my Threads on instinct, fingers curling tight into my palms. Air, water, whatever’s closest. I don’t fucking care. I’ll take anything I can throw between us.
But they’re still muffled, distant. Like someone dragged them to the bottom of a frozen lake and left them there to drown. My brows pull tight, jaw locking as I strain.
“Ah. Yes.” His eyes track every shift in my expression. “That sensation will pass, I had to quiet your Threads when we brought you in. Safety precaution. You were quite…volatile.” His tone is mild. Almost amused.“But don’t fret, it’s temporary, your access will return in time. Best not to rush it. Why don’t you have a seat?”
He gestures to the bed beside me, but I ignore it. Step forward, mouth already open, protest rising.
“No, where am?—”
A hand lifts, not fast, not aggressive. Just a flick of his wrist and the rest of my sentence vanishes in my throat. I try again, my mouth moves, but no sound follows. Like the air’s been sealed shut behind my lips.
“Have a seat,” he repeats. Still smiling but this time it's clear it's a command and not a suggestion.
A scratch as my nails dig into my palm. I don’t want to sit. I want to yell, to run, to get the hell out of here. But the words won’t come. Voice locked behind clenched teeth, tongue heavy, magic just as useless.
Plus there’s something about his eyes, familiar in a way that makes me pause. And he doesn’t look like he’s about to fight me. He’s alone. No officers, though I doubt he needs them. If he wants to talk? Fine. Buys me time. And I’m going to need every second if I’ve got any chance of avoiding a one-way trip to the dragons.
The bed creaks as I lower myself—hips barely touching the edge, spine rigid, heels planted, every muscle drawn tight. Ready. Just in case.
He follows suit, watching me in silence as he moves across the room and pulls out a chair from the desk beside me. The scrape of wood over stone cuts through the stillness like a blade.
“You know,” He leans back, one leg crosses over the other. Hands resting lightly in his lap with an ease that doesn’t match the moment. “I’ve been rather impressed with what you’ve managed to get up to over the past few years. All those little crossings… slipping over the border like a shadow.” He smiles again, like he means it. Like this is praise. “It’s not something many people could boast about...”
I blink. Hands tighten against my thighs, not from pride, but frustration. The words are there, burning to get out. Demands. Questions. Maybe even a scream. But my mouth stays shut. Sealed tight.
“But if you thought it would be that easy… slipping across,” he continues, eyes locked on mine as he leans in. “Then I’m afraid you’ve been a bit of a fool. Because the only reason you ever made it across, is because I allowed it. Because I’ve been watching you, Lyra.”A pause. “For years.”
For a second, he doesn’t move, just holds my gaze. Then, finally, he leans back, calm as ever, and lifts his fingers. Barely more than a flick, and the pressure behind my tongue snaps. It’s not violent. Just gone.
“There we are. You may speak now.” He says it like it’s a privilege, not a right. “I imagine you have… questions. But if that quick tongue of yours gets out of hand I’ll be forced to turn it off again.”
I drag in another breath, testing the air like it might vanish again. It doesn’t. But the words don’t come either. Now that I can speak… I don’t know what the fuck to say first.
The silence stretches. He just sits there, not impatient, not indulgent. Just... waiting. My mouth opens, still nothing comes.
“Okay, how about this?” he offers, like he’s doing me a favour. “I know you’ve been slipping across the border. Stealing Spice and the occasional dragon scale. And I know how long you’ve been doing it for. But...” He uncrosses his legs, elbows resting lightly on his knees, hands interlacing. “I also know what livesinsideyou, Lyra. I know the potential you hold. The kind of magic most people wouldn’t survive, let alone carry.” A pause. “So I have a proposition for you... I'd like you to come and serve at the Citadel.”
I laugh. It slips out before I can stop it, piercing, instinctive, and a little too loud. But at least I know my voice works again.
“I think I’d rather be Reassigned than serve the Citadel,” I spit, eyes narrow. “So I’ll pass. But thanks for the offer.”
This timehelaughs, a small chuckle. The corners of his eyes crease slightly, and for a second, it throws me—because it doesn’t feel mocking. It almost feels genuine.
“I thought you would say that,” he replies. “You sounded just like her, you know, your mother.”
The words hit hard, a cold ripple tearing through my composure. Whatever I was about to say flatlines, and for a moment I can only stare, trapped in the sudden stillness.
“You’re lying.” Is all I finally manage.
“I thought you would say that too.” His smile lingers and then, to my surprise, grows. Not smug, not cruel. Just... real.
But I don’t trust it, so I straighten, shoulders squaring. “You don’t know my mum, she never served at the Citadel. She hated the Innerlands. Hated everything you stood for. She left as soon as she could and crossed over to the Outerlands.”
He nods once, like he’s heard this before. “Well, yes, that’s partly true.” He unlaces his hands. “Shedidcome to hate it. And when she met your father, when she fell pregnant with you, yes, she left, ran off to the Outerlands. But the part that isn’t true, I’m afraid, is that sheabsolutelydid serve here... And not just that...” his eyes narrow in on mine, steady and unblinking “...she was one of our best.”
No, no, that isn't true. It can’t be. Everything I know about my mum—which isn’t much, granted, but enough—tells me she hated this place. Hated what it stood for. The Citadel. The Innerlands. All of it. My fists tighten, the whole moment pulls taut, fury bleeding through me. “You think I’m going to believe?—”
I start, but he moves, hand slipping into the folds of his red robe pulling something free.
