Morning drifted in gentle and quiet, sunlight spilling in pale gold across Lyra's face.
For a moment, she let herself pretend that everything was ordinary, the soft cotton of the bedsheets, the subtle lavender scent left by a recent wash, the peaceful hush that filled her small house.
She could almost imagine that the last week hadn't happened. Almost.
Then she shifted, and a flash of memory hit her like cold water: a monster's voice, jagged claws, pain ripping through her side.
Fire, her own, violet and bright, burning in the darkness. And then, as her strength slipped away, black flames that didn't belong to her, cool hands lifting her up, Alayah's fierce face close enough to touch.
Lyra sat bolt upright, heart suddenly racing. She scanned her body, half expecting pain or fresh wounds, but there was nothing no throbbing ache, no blood.
Her ribs were whole. Even her muscles felt oddly restored. She ran her hands over her side, finding only faint, almost-invisible lines where claws had raked her skin.
That wasn't possible. Even Celestian magic had its limits.
She blinked again, finally taking in the rest of her situation. The black dress she'd worn to the party, tight, striking, impossible to forget, was nowhere to be seen.
Instead, she was wrapped in a baggy, faded T-shirt that smelled faintly of her own detergent and a trace of unfamiliar smoke.
Her cheeks went hot as she realized someone must have undressed her. Her memories after collapsing in Alayah's arms were nothing but a haze.
Everything else, the care, the comfort, the absence of pain must have come after she passed out.
Lyra swung her legs out of bed, heart pounding with a strange mixture of embarrassment and gratitude. She padded to the bathroom, glancing in the mirror.
No wounds, just pale skin and the echo of exhaustion beneath her eyes. For once, the reflection that stared back at her looked like someone who had been, if not saved then at least protected.
She found the ruined party dress in the bathroom sink, rinsed and drying, a faint brown stain where blood had been.
She couldn't help but picture Alayah's hands working at the fabric, the demon's scowl as she'd scrubbed. That thought sent a new flush over Lyra's face, irritation, maybe, or something softer, harder to name.
Her phone was buzzing on the kitchen counter. She moved into the small, sunlit space, her feet cold against the tile. On the table was a slip of paper in unfamiliar, angular handwriting.
Don't die, idiot. You owe me. –A
Lyra stared at the note, a sharp smile tugging at the corner of her mouth despite herself.
Of course that's what Alayah would leave: not a word of comfort, no mention of last night's violence, just a jab and a demand for repayment.
Typical. Still, she couldn't quite keep her hand from hovering over the note, tracing the edges. The words felt strangely personal, more intimate than any confession.
Her phone buzzed again, snapping her out of it. She picked it up and saw an onslaught of messages, forty-seven, all from Zoe. The stream started at midnight and continued all the way to a few minutes ago.
Zoe:
Lyra where are you???
Did you go home with someone????
Did you see the drama with the football guy? The party got so weird
Are you okay? Answer me or I'll call the police and your mom and the dean
LYRA SERIOUSLY THIS IS GETTING SCARY
Are you dead?
Please please answer me
I'm at your house I think but you're not answering
Are you mad at me?
If you died I'll kill you
…
(and on and on, until the last message:)
Lyra it's almost 9am where are you I can't sleep
Lyra sighed, fingers flying over the screen.
Lyra: I'm fine, I'm at my house. Sorry for not answering. I just needed to sleep.
She hesitated over the next message, thumb hovering above the keyboard. Some part of her wanted to tell Zoe everything about the monster, the magic, the fight she'd barely survived.
But the rules were clear: no human could know.
The cost of breaking that trust was exile at best, execution at worst. Instead, she let her friend's anxiety hang in the air, softened only by the promise of her return.
She glanced at the clock: 9:07 a.m. Saturday. The weekend was hers. She could sleep for another twelve hours and still have time to recover. But her mind, sharp as ever, buzzed with unfinished business.
Should she thank Alayah? The thought twisted in her gut, half resentment, half responsibility. She hated owing anyone, but she hated weakness even more. Maybe she could pretend it hadn't happened.
Maybe she could send a text, a single, perfunctory thanks and be done with it. Or maybe, she considered, Alayah would mock her, make the debt worse.
She almost laughed, picturing Alayah's lazy smirk, the way her eyes seemed to see straight through every bluff.
Lyra poured herself a glass of water, letting the cool liquid calm her. She glanced around her little kitchen, still feeling the ghost of Alayah's presence—like a storm had swept through, leaving just enough chaos to remind Lyra she wasn't invincible.
Before she could lose her nerve, Lyra padded over to the living room, where the crystal archive waited on its pedestal.
She reached out, brushing her fingers across the smooth surface, calling up the latest tally. The archive shimmered, casting soft colored lights around the room.
Last Night's Harvest:
Admiration: 53 crystals × 150 = 7,950 points
Infatuation: 17 crystals × 200 = 3,400 points
Lust: 11 crystals × 500 = 5,500 points
Friendship: 9 crystals × 60 = 540 points
Minor crush: 21 crystals × 40 = 840 points
Envy: 4 crystals × 80 = 320 points
Jealousy: 3 crystals × 100 = 300 points
Curiosity: 27 crystals × 20 = 540 points
Total: 19,390 points
Lyra stared, almost disbelieving. It was the biggest single-day haul she'd had since the contest began.
The afterglow of the partyof the danger, the drama, the attention had charged the air. And the fight itself, she realized, had sent out ripples that drew even more energy, even if the humans never understood why.
Her hands trembled as she flicked to the rival tab. Alayah's total from last night: 23,870 points. Still ahead, but not by much.
Lyra smiled, a genuine rush of satisfaction warming her chest. She'd closed the gap. Maybe the contest wasn't so impossible after all.
She sat at her little table, staring at her phone. The question gnawed at her.
She'd been saved, undressed, cleaned, patched up, and put to bed by the very woman she was supposed to outwit and destroy.
How did you thank an enemy for saving your life? And more terrifying, why did she want to?
She sipped her water, rolling the question around in her mind. Maybe Alayah had done it for pride, maybe for the contest, maybe for some reason Lyra would never understand. But whatever the answer, Lyra owed her a debt, and debts had to be paid.
She leaned back in her chair, letting the sunlight soak into her skin. She could, she realized, just crawl back into bed, sleep for another hour or two. She deserved it. But rest would only delay the inevitable.
Her phone buzzed again, Zoe, sending another stream of panicked emojis.
Lyra thumbed a message back, biting her lip.
Lyra: How should I thank someone that I hate?
She hesitated for just a moment before hitting send, watching the text deliver with a strange, nervous energy fluttering in her chest.
She looked down at Alayah's note again. Don't die, idiot. You owe me.
Lyra snorted, folding the note and tucking it into a drawer.
She couldn't decide whether to laugh or scream, whether to send a bouquet of black roses or challenge Alayah to a rematch. But one thing was certain: she wasn't going to let the demon get the last word.
Not this time.