I saw the first one fall.
And for a moment—
I didn't understand what I was looking at.
The shadows had already carried me there, stretching thin across distance, feeding me fragments—movement, breath, emotion—but this—
This was different.
He didn't even have time to react.
Lyra moved—
and he was already dead.
Clean.
Fast.
Efficient.
My breath stilled.
Not shock.
Not quite.
Recognition.
That was skill.
That was control.
That was—
familiar.
"She adapts quickly," Mortimer murmured.
I didn't answer.
Because I was still watching.
Still tracking every movement as it unfolded.
The second man turned—
too slow.
Lyra was already there.
No hesitation.
No wasted motion.
Her claws slid through him like he was nothing.
My jaw tightened.
That—
was new.
Not the killing.
Not the efficiency.
The way she did it.
Closer.
More—
Unforgiving
But still—
controlled.
Still precise.
Still necessary.
Something in my chest settled.
Sharp.
Cold.
Approval.
I didn't say it out loud.
Didn't need to.
It was there.
Clear as anything.
"She's peaking my interest." Mortimer said again, softer this time.
Yes.
She is.
The third man fell.
Then the fourth.
And something shifted.
Subtle.
At first.
So subtle I almost missed it.
Her movements didn't slow.
Didn't falter.
But they—
changed.
The space between strikes grew smaller.
The pauses disappeared.
The control—
tightened.
Too much.
My fingers curled slightly at my side.
This wasn't strategy anymore.
This wasn't survival.
This was—
My gaze narrowed.
The man tried to run.
Lyra didn't chase him.
Didn't need to.
Water snapped around his legs, freezing instantly, dropping him to the ground.
Cold.
Calculated.
But when she reached him—
she didn't end it.
She lingered.
My chest tightened.
That—
was wrong.
Lyra didn't linger.
She didn't draw things out.
She didn't—
She dragged him back.
Slammed him down.
Hard.
Too hard.
The table cracked beneath the impact.
Her hand wrapped around his throat.
Not quick.
Not clean.
Tight.
Controlled.
But—
deliberate.
The thread pulsed.
And this time—
it didn't feel like her.
It felt like something pressing through it.
"She's beginning to understand," Mortimer said quietly.
"No," I said.
My voice came out lower than I expected.
"She's losing it."
"Is she?"
I didn't answer.
Because I was still watching.
Still trying to decide—
which of us was right.
Lyra moved again.
Another body dropped.
Another.
Too fast.
Too easy.
Too—
smooth.
That was the problem.
Not the violence.
The ease of it.
The way her body moved like it belonged here.
Like it had done this before.
My jaw tightened.
Something in my chest shifted.
The approval—
faded.
Replaced with something else.
Something I didn't like.
Didn't want to name.
"She is magnificent," Mortimer murmured.
My gaze sharpened.
"No," I said again.
Stronger this time.
Because I could see it now.
Clearly.
This wasn't just her.
Not entirely.
She reached the last man.
He stumbled back, panic finally setting in, hands raised like that would do anything.
Lyra didn't slow.
Didn't hesitate.
Her claws were already shifting.
Ready.
My fingers flexed.
That pull in my chest tightened.
Sharp.
Uncomfortable.
I didn't like this.
Didn't like the way she looked.
Didn't like the way the thread felt.
Didn't like—
Her arm lifted.
And this time—
I didn't wait.
The shadows moved before the thought finished forming.
They surged around me, folding space, swallowing distance—
and then I was there.
The smell hit first.
Blood.
Thick.
Heavy.
Fresh.
Then her.
Close.
Too close.
She didn't see me.
Not yet.
Her focus was locked on him.
On the kill.
Her claws pressed deeper into his chest, just enough to keep him alive.
For now.
Drawing it out.
That—
was what made my jaw tighten.
That was what made something in my chest turn sharp.
This wasn't her.
Not fully.
I moved.
Fast.
Silent.
My hand closed around her forearm.
Solid.
Real.
Not a shadow.
Not distance.
Contact.
She reacted instantly.
Of course she did.
Her body twisted with violent speed, her other hand snapping up—claws flashing toward me without hesitation.
No recognition.
No pause.
Just instinct.
Lethal.
I stepped in.
Closed the distance completely.
And pulled her back.
Hard.
Her back hit my chest, one arm locking across her upper torso, the other catching her wrist before she could turn those claws on me.
She fought.
Gods—
she fought like she didn't know me.
Like I was just another threat.
Her power surged under my grip, wild and uncontained, shadows and something colder twisting through the air around us.
"Let go," she snapped, voice low—wrong.
I tightened my hold just enough to keep control.
"No."
She twisted again, sharper this time, trying to break free, trying to turn, trying to kill—
The thread snapped.
Not a pulse.
Not a flicker.
It snapped tight between us like something stretched too far for too long and finally gave.
And suddenly—
I felt everything.
Her rage.
Not surface.
Not fleeting.
Deep.
Endless.
Burning through her like it would never stop.
The satisfaction beneath it.
The way her body wanted this.
The way her power answered too easily.
Too quickly.
And beneath all of it—
something else.
Something darker.
Quieter.
Waiting.
My grip tightened.
"No," I muttered under my breath.
Not her.
Not like this.
She surged again, trying to break free.
I shifted slightly, pulling her tighter against me, anchoring her.
"Lyra."
Her name came out lower this time.
Closer.
Right at her ear.
She stilled—
just slightly.
Not enough.
But enough to feel it.
"This isn't you," I said quietly.
She froze.
Not fully.
Not completely.
But enough.
Her breathing hitched.
Once.
Sharp.
"This isn't my Little thief."
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Before I could pull them back.
And for a second—
everything shifted.
The rage didn't disappear.
Didn't fade.
But it—
cracked.
Just slightly.
I felt it.
Because the thread didn't lie.
And then—
the man screamed.
"Help!—someone—!"
The sound shattered the moment.
Footsteps pounded behind the door.
Multiple.
Fast.
Rushing.
I lifted my gaze toward the sound, already calculating, already shifting—but I didn't let her go.
Not yet.
Not when I could still feel that edge in her.
That darkness pressing at the surface
.
Not when I knew—
if I did—
she wouldn't stop.
My grip loosened just slightly.
Not enough to release her.
Just enough—
to give her space to breathe.
"Stay with me," I murmured, low enough that only she could hear.
Behind us—
the door burst open.
And everything changed again.