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Chapter 7 - Chapter 7: Watching the Enemy

Lyra froze. Peter's green eyes were searching the empty air, looking almost directly at her. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

"I can feel your presence," he said softly. "Your sadness and pain."

Can he sense me? Lyra's thought as her form flickered between solid and ethereal.

"You don't have to hide," Peter continued, his voice gentle. "I won't hurt you." He said as Moira materialized beside her, fury radiating from her translucent form. "He's trying to trick you. Don't listen."

But Peter wasn't looking at Moira, his gaze remained fixed on Lyra's position, as if he could see through her invisibility. "I know you're hungry," he said, reaching into his coat. "Cold and alone."

He pulled out a small loaf of bread and set it on the cobblestones. Then he stepped back, hands raised peacefully. "I'm not going anywhere," he said. "Take your time."

Lyra watched in confusion as Peter sat down on the dirty street, not caring that his expensive clothes would be ruined. He waited patiently, occasionally glancing at the bread.

"This is absurd," Moira hissed. "He's trying to lure you into a trap."

"Look at him," Lyra whispered. "Does he look like he's setting a trap?"

Peter was humming softly, the same lullaby she remembered from her childhood. Her grandmother had sung it to her when she was afraid.

"How does he know that song?" she breathed.

"It's a common lullaby, it means nothing." But Moira's voice was uncertain.

A young girl appeared at the end of the alley, her clothes torn and dirty. She looked maybe twelve, with matted blonde hair and hollow cheeks.

"My lord?" the girl said hesitantly. "Are you... are you hurt?"

Peter looked up and smiled. "Hello, sweetheart. I'm perfectly fine. Just waiting for a friend."

The girl's eyes darted to the bread as her stomach growled audibly. "Are you hungry?" Peter asked.

She nodded, too ashamed to speak.

"Please, take it." He gestured to the loaf. "I brought too much food anyway."

The girl grabbed the bread and began eating desperately as Peter watched with gentle concern, not judgment.

"When did you last have a proper meal?" he asked.

"Three days ago," she mumbled around a mouthful of bread.

"Three days?" Peter's voice was shocked. "Where are your parents?"

"Dead. Plague took them last winter."

"I'm so sorry." Peter's eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Have you been living on the streets all this time?"

The girl nodded, unable to meet his gaze.

"That's going to change," Peter said firmly as he pulled out a small pouch of coins. "This is for you."

"I can't take your money, my lord."

"You can and you will." His voice was kind but determined. "No child should go hungry in my city."

"But I'm nobody special."

"You're a child of this kingdom. That makes you special to me."

Lyra felt something crack inside her chest. This wasn't the behavior of a monster. This was genuine compassion.

"There's more," Peter continued. "St. Mercy's Orphanage has space. Clean beds, warm meals, and other children to play with."

"They'd take someone like me?"

"I'll make sure of it." Peter said as he stood and brushed off his clothes. "Come. Let me introduce you to Sister Margaret."

As they walked away, Lyra found herself following. Not to hunt, but to understand him.

"This changes nothing," Moira said desperately. "One act of kindness doesn't erase generations of evil."

"But what if it's not just one act?" Lyra watched Peter guide the girl gently through the streets. "What if he's actually good?"

"Then he's the exception, not the rule. The rest of his family are still murderers."

They reached the orphanage as Sister Margaret welcomed the girl with open arms, no questions asked about her background or circumstances.

"Lord Ravencrest," the elderly nun said, "you've brought us another angel."

"She's the angel," Peter replied. "I just happened to find her."

"Will you stay for evening prayers?"

"I'd be honored."

Lyra floated through the walls, watching Peter kneel beside the children. His prayers weren't the formal words of nobility. They were heartfelt and personal.

"Please watch over those who have no one," he whispered. "The lost, the forgotten, the afraid. Help us build a world where no child sleeps hungry."

One of the younger boys tugged on his sleeve. "Lord Peter, will you tell us a story?"

"Of course." Peter's face lit up. "What kind of story would you like?"

"A scary one!"

"No, a funny one!"one child shouted happily.

"How about," Peter said thoughtfully, "a story about someone who seemed scary but was actually kind?"

The children gathered around eagerly as Lyra found herself drawn closer as well.

"Once upon a time," Peter began, "there was a spirit who lived in the forest. People said she was dangerous, that she would steal children who wandered too far from home."

Lyra's breath caught. A spirit? Why would he tell that story?

"But the truth was," Peter continued, "the spirit was just lonely. She had been hurt very badly, and she was afraid to trust anyone. So she hid in the shadows, watching people from far away."

"Was she really dangerous?" one child asked.

"She thought she was. She believed she was meant to be a monster because that's what everyone told her." Peter's voice was soft. "But one day, a young man got lost in the forest. He was hurt and scared, and the spirit found him."

"Did she hurt him?"

"She wanted to. She had every reason to hate people like him." Peter's eyes seemed to look directly through the wall at Lyra. "But when she saw his pain, she realized he wasn't her enemy. He was just another lost soul."

"So what happened?"

"She saved him. And in saving him, she saved herself." Peter smiled. "Because sometimes the people we think are our enemies are actually the ones who can help us heal."

The children clapped happily. But Lyra felt tears on her cheeks. Phantom tears, which were supposed to be impossible for a spirit to shed.

"That's enough stories for tonight," Sister Margaret said. "Time for bed."

As the children were tucked in, Peter walked to the window. He placed his hand against the glass, and Lyra realized he was looking directly at her.

"I know you're still there," he said quietly. "I want you to know... whatever happened to you, whatever pain you're carrying, you don't have to face it alone."

"He can't see you," Moira said, but her voice lacked conviction. Peter opened the window. "I'll be here tomorrow night. And the night after that. For as long as you need."

He picked up his coat and walked toward the door. Then he paused.

"I lost someone too," he said without turning around. "Someone who believed in justice. In healing. She would have wanted me to help you."

The door closed behind him, leaving Lyra floating in stunned silence."Who was he talking about?" she whispered.

"It doesn't matter," Moira said, but her voice was shaking. "He's still a Ravencrest. Still your enemy."

"Is he?" Lyra watched Peter's carriage disappear into the night. "Or is he exactly what we need to break the cycle?"

"Don't even think about it," Moira warned. "Your mission is clear. The prophecy is clear."

"But what if the prophecy is wrong?"

"Prophecies are never wrong, child. Only our interpretation of them."

As they floated back toward their hiding place, Lyra couldn't shake the feeling that everything she thought she knew was crumbling. Peter Ravencrest wasn't the monster she'd expected.

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