Chapter 39 — POV: Lyra
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.
The jet's engines thrummed beneath us, low and steady. A vibration that crawled into my bones, reminding me that the world outside these walls was dangerous, chaotic, and constantly hunting me—even now. My knuckles ached from the warehouse fight, but I flexed them deliberately, letting the memory sharpen my mind instead of dull it.
I leaned back, pulling the jacket tighter around my hips. Armor against the memory, armor against the fear I refused to admit even to myself. Every scar, every cut, every bruise screamed that I was alive. And more than that—I was untouchable.
A muted flicker on my phone drew my attention. A delayed notification, nothing critical—or so it seemed. But my instincts prickled. Someone is watching.
I allowed my eyes to drift toward the cabin monitor. A newsflash blinked in the corner—a symbol, sharp and red. Subtle, deliberate. Familiar. Recognition hit me in a rush of adrenaline. A warning? A signature? Or a game piece left to mark me as prey? Whoever it was, they had seen me, tracked me. But I wasn't theirs. I had never been.
I smirked at my own reflection in the window: bloodied, bruised, disheveled, yet perfectly composed. Every line of my posture radiated defiance. Let them watch. Let the world try to catch me. They had no idea who I had become—or who I could become when cornered.
Kieller's eyes shifted toward me, sharp, calculating, protective. He didn't speak. He never had to. The quiet weight of his presence alone was enough to make the entire cabin feel electrified. I met his gaze for a fraction of a second, letting the arrogance in my smirk tell him: I'm fine. Don't interfere. Not yet.
I traced my fingers along the edge of the armrest, flexing each joint deliberately. The warehouse fight had left more than bruises and blood; it had left fire. Rage coiled in my veins like liquid steel. And now, even in this false calm, I felt it simmering, waiting for the moment to strike again.
Outside, the clouds stretched in endless white expanses, indifferent to everything below. Beneath the jet, mountains, rivers, cities—all crawling with people who thought they mattered. None of them knew the war that had followed me here, the storm I had brought with me, or the predator that still trailed my shadow.
I leaned back, closing my eyes for a brief second, and breathed in the recycled air of the jet. I let the calm wash over me—or at least the illusion of calm. I could feel the tension in the cabin, the subtle tightness in Kieller's shoulders, the quiet hum of the engines, the vibration in my seat. Everything was calculated. Everything was a trap.
And yet… I had survived traps before.
I shifted my jacket, tugging it tighter, smoothing the crease across my hip like a queen adjusting her crown. Every line of my body screamed authority, every flicker of movement a statement: I am not afraid. I do not bend. I am not yours to touch.
But even as I held that image, the shadow in my mind wouldn't leave. Something—or someone—had followed me from the warehouse. Watched me. Known every heartbeat. Every twitch. Every spark of defiance.
And they had not left yet.
I let my eyes roam the cabin, scanning for anything out of place. Nothing. Perfectly normal. Too perfect. My instincts sharpened, and I realized that danger wasn't something I could see. Danger was already in motion, invisible, patient. Waiting for a fraction of weakness I did not possess.
I leaned forward slightly, elbows on my knees, eyes half-closed, mind racing. Let them think I was unaware. Let them think I was tired. Let them underestimate me. I had survived monsters before. I had outlived them. And when the storm returned, it would meet a force it could not calculate.
A flicker of movement in my reflection made me pause. Nothing outside the window, nothing in the cabin. But the warning was real. I felt it in the prickling at my spine, the subtle tightness of the air, the faint vibration of unease in my gut. Someone had followed me. Someone was watching. And they weren't leaving.
The queen is awake, I thought, letting my smirk curl into something sharper. Let them come. Let them try. I had survived hell, I had turned monsters into dust, and I had claws they could never see coming.
The jet hummed beneath me. Engines. Clouds. Steel. But unseen eyes recorded every heartbeat, every twitch, every spark of defiance. And the storm we had survived? It had only just begun.
And I would burn everything in its path.