"Don't worry about how I know," Lyra said as she cast a quick glance at Jorathon, who had slumped back onto the bed, looking even frailer.
She flashed a smile at Alon and the others, then asked, "Do you still want me to save him or not?"
That smile wasn't comforting—it was chilling.
The answer was obvious. After days of watching Jorathon's condition worsen, and nearly losing him, they were desperate to save him.
Yet now, with her deception revealed, Alon felt trapped, as if Lyra had a knife pressed to his throat. The Mendez family had two level-seven Peculiars, but he knew they couldn't use force against her.
Taking a deep breath, Alon wiped his face before asking, "What exactly do you want?"
Lyra slapped a contract down onto the machine beside the bed, leaning forward slightly. "I want a ship with official Wyrmtrace planet flight rights, and it better have at least 500,000 tons of cargo capacity. Whether you rent it or buy it, I want it for at least ten years."
