My jaw tightens.
“And her?”
“A variable.”
They pull me again, but I don’t resist this time. Not because I’ve stopped, but because something has shifted into place with a clarity I didn’t have before.
He was ahead of me.
Every step.
The cell door opens,and I don’t need to look to know who’s inside. The air carries it, the subtle shift in presence that I’ve learned to recognize before sight confirms it. They shove me forward just enough that I have to move or fall, and I catch myself, straightening as the door closes behind me with a finality that doesn’t echo.
Lyria looks up immediately, her eyes moving over me, taking in the damage, the imbalance, the absence of control I haven’t managed to hide.
“What did you do?” she asks, her voice sharp, cutting through everything else.
“I made a mistake,” I say.
She exhales, shaking her head slightly.
“Yeah,” she mutters. “I figured.”
I meet her gaze.
And for the first time?—
There’s nothing behind it.
No plan.
No structure.
Just—
The realization that I’ve been playing a game where I never set the rules.
33
LYRIA
The first thing I notice is how still he is.
Not calm.
Not composed.
Still.
It’s the kind of stillness that comes after something breaks clean through you, when your body hasn’t quite caught up to the damage yet. He stands a few steps inside the cell like he hasn’t decided whether to move or not, his shoulders set but not held, his breathing just slightly off rhythm if you know what to look for.
I do.
Of course I do.
“You look like shit,” I say, not sharp, not soft—just honest.
His mouth shifts like he might respond, but nothing comes out right away. His gaze flicks toward me, then away, then back again like he’s trying to find footing that isn’t there anymore.
