Chapter 31 — POV: Lyra
The scent hit instantly — sweet, chemical, wrong.
It was sharp enough to cut through the stagnant air, coating the inside of my mouth with a metallic tang before I could even turn my head away.
I thrashed, but my limbs were lead. My wrists strained against the ropes, skin screaming at the abrasion, but the fight felt slow, sluggish — my body too drained from thirst, the endless cold, the sound of water dripping just out of reach.
My head swam. The world tilted.
The cracked mask leaned closer. Not the leader — the shorter one. The one whose movements were never fully sure.Only now, he was steady.Deliberate.
The crack along the jawline of his mask caught the light, and for a moment I thought I could see the shadow of his mouth behind it — just the faintest curve of something like satisfaction.
The edges of my vision began to fray.
I wanted to pull back, turn my face away from the source of that chemical sweetness, but my neck refused to obey. The air was thick with it now, every breath dragging more of it inside me.
My thoughts stuttered.
The last thing I saw before the dark took me was that cracked mask leaning closer… as if it wanted to make sure I saw it.
And I did.I saw it, and I understood — this wasn't about killing me. Not yet. This was about ownership.
I woke to motion.
Not my own — theirs. My chair scraped against the concrete as hands I couldn't see dragged it into a new position. The sound was jagged in the stale air, jolting my mind into enough awareness to register that my head was hanging forward, chin resting against my chest.
When I tried to lift it, fire lanced through the base of my skull.
I forced my eyes open.
The room was dimmer now, the single overhead light replaced by something lower, warmer — a bulb suspended just above a shallow metal basin on the floor. Water sat in the basin, still and gleaming. Close enough that I could smell it.
Too close.
I knew what they were doing before the first voice came.
"You've been asleep," the leader said, his tone as calm as if we were discussing the weather. "Sleep is a gift. And now we take it away."
A shape moved in my periphery — the tall one, carrying a second jug. I didn't have to ask what was in it.
Water.
He crouched beside the basin, pouring the contents in slow, steady arcs so the sound was impossible to ignore. The ripples caught the light, dancing in my blurred vision. My body ached toward it instinctively, ropes tightening against my wrists and ankles with each twitch.
The leader crouched in front of me, mask tilting in that way that made him seem more insect than human."Look at it," he murmured. "Every nerve in your body is screaming for it. Every thought is bending toward it. And still — you can't have it."
The shorter one appeared behind him, silent except for the faint squeak of his shoes. He carried a cloth — small, dark, soaked in something I recognized too late.
The sweet-chemical scent bloomed again.
"No—" My voice cracked, the word breaking in the middle.
The leader's gloved hand cupped the back of my head, holding me still while the cloth pressed lightly against my mouth and nose. Not hard enough to block air completely — just enough to make every breath a gamble.
The fumes curled through my sinuses, searing my throat. My eyelids fluttered, but the leader's voice anchored me just long enough to hear:
"You'll dream of water. You'll wake to none."
The darkness took me again.
When I came to, the basin was gone.So was the light.
The hum from the speaker was louder now — or maybe it just felt louder in the dark. My ears strained for the drip, but it had stopped. The absence was worse.
I didn't know how much time had passed. My tongue was thick, my lips split in new places. Every muscle in my back ached from the way I'd been slumped.
A faint sound brushed the edge of hearing — something being dragged across the floor. I froze.
The tall one's shadow moved first, then the shorter one's. They didn't turn on the light. Instead, the leader's voice came from somewhere close enough that I could feel the vibration of it in my ribs.
"You've been wondering who we are."I didn't answer.
"You've been wondering if he'll come."Still, I stayed silent.
"And you've been wondering what happens when he doesn't."
Something cold touched the inside of my wrist. I flinched, but the grip on my arm didn't loosen. Metal. Thin. Tightening.
A zip tie.
Another bite of cold plastic at my other wrist. Then my ankles. Then the rope fell away, replaced by the sharper, cleaner pressure of the ties.
They lifted me from the chair. My legs barely remembered how to hold me. I staggered between them, the sound of my own ragged breathing too loud in my ears.
The shorter one kept glancing at the door. Nervous again. But the leader's steps were steady, deliberate, until we stopped at what felt like another room entirely.
The air was different here — warmer, thicker, with the faint scent of rust and something sour underneath.
They sat me in another chair. This one reclined slightly, the back cool against my shoulders. I didn't need to see the shapes on the tray beside me to know they were metal. Sharp.
But they didn't touch them.Not yet.
Instead, the leader set something on my lap. It was soft, rough-textured — cloth again. I blinked until my eyes adjusted enough to make out the shape.
A mask.White.Blank.
The leader bent close enough for his breath to stir my hair."Queens wear crowns," he murmured. "But you… you'll wear this."
His gloved fingers lifted it, lowering it over my face until the world narrowed to two small eyeholes and the smell of old cloth and rubber.
And then — nothing.
Not silence. Not dark. Nothing.
The mask cut my peripheral vision completely. I couldn't see their faces — not that I ever had — and now I couldn't even see their hands. Every sound was amplified in the empty space around me: the shuffle of shoes, the faint click of metal on metal, the steady rhythm of my own breathing turning shallow.
The leader's voice came again, muffled now."He's already too late. And tomorrow, he'll see what that costs."
The last thing I felt was the cracked mask's breath near my ear.Not a whisper. Not words.Just breath — warm, steady, deliberate.
Like it was memorizing mine.