Chapter 38 — POV: Lyra
The hum of the jet was almost meditative, a soft vibration beneath my palms as I leaned against the window. Clouds drifted below, endless, indifferent. Outside, the world moved in patterns I could no longer touch; inside, it had collapsed and reshaped itself around me.
I glanced down at my hands. Bruised, streaked with dried blood, trembling slightly—not from fear, but from the remnants of rage.
The fight. The chaos. The way I had ripped him from life. My heart still pounded like a war drum, every beat a reminder that I had survived. That I had won.
I should feel relief. I should feel safe.
But I didn't. Relief was a luxury for those who could afford it. I only felt fire. Fire in my chest, fire in my veins, fire in my eyes. The taste of what I had become lingered on my tongue.
Kieller sat opposite, silent, a storm contained in sharp lines and tailored fabric. He didn't say a word. His presence alone was enough to remind me I was not untouchable—not entirely. Yet, I ignored it. Misread it, even. It was just Kieller arrogance. Typical, suffocating, perfectly cruel.
"You look like a storm walked over you," he finally said, voice low, dangerous. "And yet… you sit there like nothing happened."
I smirked, lifting my head, still catching my breath. "Maybe I am nothing. Or maybe I just don't care what anyone thinks."
He arched an eyebrow. "Nothing?" His gaze burned, calculating, possessed. "That's not nothing. That's chaos waiting to ignite."
I laughed softly, bitter, almost proud. "Then let it ignite. I don't follow rules. I don't beg. I don't kneel."
I shifted in my seat, tending to my bruises, adjusting the torn dress over my hips. My hands shook slightly, but I held them steady, a quiet assertion that I didn't need help. Not from anyone.
The jet hummed on, dim lights painting long shadows across the cabin. I stared at my reflection in the window—blood-streaked, exhausted, fierce. A queen. A survivor. Dangerous.
What they didn't know—and what Kieller didn't tell me—was that my actions had already rippled into the world. The Golden Mask had eyes everywhere. Watching. Waiting. Recording.
I didn't see it. I didn't hear it. And that made my calm, my arrogance, my survival… even more potent.
I leaned back, closing my eyes, finally allowing my body a fraction of rest.
"Let them come," I whispered to the hum of engines and clouds beneath us. "Let the world try me. I'm ready."
Kieller's jaw tightened across the cabin, his hands resting on the arms of his seat. He didn't break his calm. Not yet. But I could feel it—every line of tension, every measured breath. He knew. The storm hadn't passed. It had only shifted.
And we were flying straight into it.