Lyra didn't sleep that night.
The city hummed outside her window — the low, electric rhythm of a place that never truly rested. Steam drifted up from the lower alleys, curling against the glass like fingers trying to get in.
She sat cross-legged on her bed, cloak tossed aside, hair still damp from the rain. On her nightstand, her mother's locket pulsed faintly — a heartbeat that wasn't hers.
The stranger's words wouldn't leave her mind.
I don't feel.
Impossible. Everyone felt. Even the dead left emotional echoes.
She pressed her palms together, calling up a wisp of golden light — her magic, raw and uneven. It fluttered between her fingers before fading again. Her emotions were fractured, unstable. The night's fight had drained her.
Maybe she was imagining him. Maybe there had been no man in the rain.
A sharp knock at her door shattered that thought.
Lyra froze. No one visited her this late. Not since she'd moved into the outer quarters under a fake name.
Another knock — firmer. Open up.
The voice was deep, steady. Too familiar.
Her pulse stuttered. Kael?
Someone's listening, he murmured through the door. Don't react.
Lyra's mind raced. The Council's patrols. They must have tracked the magical surge from the tea house.
She crossed the room silently, touching her locket for strength, then cracked the door open just as two shadows flickered at the end of the hall.
Kael slipped inside without permission. The air around him felt wrong. Not dangerous, exactly — just quiet. Like he absorbed the noise from everything nearby.
What are you doing here? She whispered harshly.
He closed the door behind him, eyes scanning the room. Saving your life. Again.
I didn't ask you to.
You didn't have to, he said flatly. The Council just placed a binding mark on the district. They're tracing emotional residue.
Lyra blinked. They can't do that without a warrant.
They don't need one for you.
Her stomach dropped. They know?
Not yet, Kael said. But they will if you keep radiating guilt like that.
Lyra's jaw tightened. I'm not guilty.
Then stop looking like you are.
She exhaled sharply, stepping back to put distance between them. You walk in here like you own the place, lecture me like I'm your problem, and expect me to—
Shh. Kael's eyes snapped toward the window. Outside, faint lights moved — patrol orbs drifting closer.
He reached into his coat, pulling out something small and metallic — a shard of obsidian etched with runes. He pressed it to the glass, and instantly, the lights dimmed, their hum fading away.
Lyra stared. What did you just do?
Muted your emotional signature, he said. Temporarily.
You're not a Soulbinder, she said slowly. You shouldn't even know how to—
I shouldn't exist, he interrupted. We've established that.
She crossed her arms. You're enjoying this.
Not possible.
Her lips twitched despite herself. Right. No feelings.
Exactly.
Silence stretched — the kind thick enough to feel. The city's hum returned faintly, distant and ghostlike.
Lyra studied him. His face was calm, almost too calm — sharp lines, unreadable eyes. Yet there was something beneath that emptiness, something she couldn't name.
What are you? she asked quietly.
Kael looked at her for a long moment, then said, Someone is trying to make sure you live long enough to regret what you did tonight.
That's not an answer.
It's the only one you'll get.
He turned toward the door, cloak brushing against the floor. But before he could open it, Lyra's voice stopped him.
Why me?
He didn't look back. Because the Council doesn't hunt ordinary Soulbinders. They hunt anomalies. And you, Lyra Vael, are the biggest anomaly they've seen in a century.
Her throat tightened. You know my name.
I know a lot of things, he said softly. Like the fact that your mother wasn't executed — she was erased.
Lyra's world tilted. What do you mean erased?
Kael finally met her gaze. His eyes — gray like storm glass — held something almost human for the first time.
They didn't kill her because she broke the law, he said. They killed her because she found the Heart of Elarion.
Lyra's pulse roared in her ears. That's a myth.
So were Ecliptians, Kael said, until one of them started setting fire to tea houses.
Her breath caught. You're saying I—
I'm saying, he murmured, stepping closer, you inherited more than her anger.
He was near enough now that she could feel the chill radiating off him — like standing next to a storm that hadn't decided where to strike.
Stay away from me, she whispered.
Too late.
He slipped something into her hand — a silver pendant, unfamiliar and warm.
When that starts burning, he said, run.
Run where?
Anywhere. But not toward the light.
Then, before she could speak again, Kael was gone — vanished into the hall without a sound, leaving only the faint echo of his words and the weight of the pendant in her palm.
Lyra stared at it, the metal already pulsing softly, like a heartbeat she didn't recognize.
Outside, thunder rolled across the city.
And for the first time in years, Lyra Vael felt afraid.