Chapter 3

I stared at him, my mind blank. "Talk about what?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. He seemed impatient, his jaw tight. He glanced back at Lyra, who was watching us with wide, tear-filled eyes. "Not here," he said, his voice clipped. He gestured down the hallway, away from the prying eyes and ears. "Come with me."

A part of me, the foolish part that still remembered the boy I grew up with, felt a flicker of hope. Maybe he had seen something. Maybe he realized I wasn't the villain. I wanted, so desperately, to go with him. To walk beside him, to feel the warmth of the rising sun on my face, even if we were surrounded by silence. It was a simple, selfish wish. A small moment of peace in this painful second chance.

But just as I took a step forward, a figure appeared at the end of the hall. It was Lyra. She had let go of Kaelen's arm and now stood there, looking pale and fragile. "Kaelen," she called out, her voice trembling. "My head hurts. I think... I think the smoke made me dizzy." She swayed dramatically, one hand pressed to her forehead. She was a perfect picture of a damsel in distress.

Kaelen's attention snapped to her instantly. All thoughts of our conversation vanished. He was by her side in a second, his arm wrapped around her waist to support her. "Lyra, are you alright?" he asked, his voice full of concern. The coldness he showed me was gone, replaced by a gentle warmth reserved only for her. I stopped walking. I knew this move. I had seen it a thousand times. I let my hands fall to my sides, the brief flicker of hope dying in my chest. I had to let him go.

He shot me a look over his shoulder, a look filled with suspicion and annoyance, as if Lyra's sudden illness was my fault too. "We'll talk later," he snapped, before turning his full attention back to her. "I'll take you to the infirmary." He half-carried her away, his broad back a clear dismissal. He didn't look back. I was left alone in the scorched hallway, the silence pressing in on me.

As they disappeared around the corner, I saw Lyra lift her head from his shoulder. She looked back at me, and for a split second, her mask of fragility dropped. Her eyes were not dizzy or pained. They were sharp, cold, and triumphant. A small, cruel smile played on her lips. It was a look that said, "He is mine. You will never win." Then it was gone, and she was once again the weak, helpless girl in his arms. The truth of her nature was a secret only I knew. And it was a secret that would cost me everything.