Chapter 33 — POV: Lyra
The first strike was sound.
A metal rod cracked across the chair's armrest, so close I felt the vibration rattle through my bones. I didn't flinch. They hated that.
The second strike landed on me. My ribs lit fire, sharp enough that my breath caught against the mask. I folded, not in surrender but because my body demanded it. Pain was currency here — and they were intent on spending it until I was bankrupt.
"Sit her up."
Hands yanked me upright. Plastic cut deeper into my wrists. My skin felt wet there now. Blood.
The mask stifled my breath, but it also spared them the sight of my teeth bared in something closer to a grin than they would ever admit.
"You think pain humbles?" I rasped, my voice raw, metallic against the mask. "It only teaches me where to hurt you back."
The shorter one shifted — crack-mask, hesitant again. But the leader didn't falter. He stepped close, crouching until his face was level with mine, his tone honeyed arrogance.
"You won't hurt me, Lyra. You'll beg me."
Something clicked. A phone. No — not just a phone. A camera.
The leader turned it, angling the lens so its eye focused solely on me, bound and masked, blood seeping through plastic ties.
And then his voice curved like a blade:
"Call him."
The tall one obeyed, tapping a number with infuriating ease. A tone. A ring. The anticipation was another knife against my throat.
And then — connection.
The screen lit with his face. Kieller.
Even through static, his presence hit like impact — sharp suit, sharper eyes, arrogance dripping even in fury.
The leader angled the phone so Kieller could drink in every detail: the mask strapped across my face, the crimson at my wrists, the way my shoulders jerked with each stolen breath.
For the first time, I heard silence from him. No instant command, no arrogant retort. Just silence. Heavy, murderous.
The leader's voice filled it.
"Do you see her? Do you see what silence looks like?"
The camera tilted closer to me. My reflection shimmered faintly in the black screen — not a queen, not a survivor. A prisoner.
But when I forced my head up, I aimed every ounce of venom I had left at the lens.
"Don't you dare come crawling for me,"
I spat, my voice muffled but sharp enough to slice through.
"If you're the man you claim, you don't kneel. You burn."
The leader's gloved hand struck across my jaw, snapping my head sideways. White heat flared behind my eyes. The taste of copper filled my mouth.
I dragged my head back to face the camera. Blood smeared across the inside of the mask, painting my words red.
"Watch carefully, Kieller," I hissed. "Because when I'm free, I'll make them wish they never called you."
That was when he finally spoke.
His voice cut through the static like a blade dipped in fire — low, arrogant, lethal.
"You touched what's mine."
His tone was calm, terrifying in its control.
"Do you understand what that means?"
The leader tilted his head, mask gleaming. But Kieller didn't wait for an answer.
"You think this little show is power?" His lips curved into something cold, feral. "Power isn't parading her like a trophy. Power is when I erase every name you've ever had, every place you've ever walked, until even your shadows forget you existed."
The air in the room shifted. Even the tall one stilled.
Kieller leaned forward, his eyes burning through the screen, not at them — at me.
"Lyra," he said, voice sharpened into command. "Don't beg. Don't bow. Hold that mask like a crown, because by the time I reach you, they'll be crawling at your feet, begging me to end them."
The leader laughed, low and poisonous, but it sounded thinner now. He lifted the phone closer to his own mask — that insect tilt — before adding,
"Tomorrow, you'll have your chance. She'll be unveiled. Not as your queen, not as your equal… as our masterpiece."
Kieller's voice sliced in before the line died:
"You've mistaken survival for victory. Tomorrow, I don't come to save her. Tomorrow, I come to bury you."
The screen went black.
The dark swallowed me again.
But in that suffocating silence, one truth roared in my chest: they had no idea what they had just ignited.
Not ownership. Not victory.
War.