Lyra stands before Madam Cherry in her usual composed posture as she delivers her report. Her voice is steady as she recounts the details of her and Edric's latest mission—how they have negotiated with the mafia, the leverage they have gained, and the aftermath of the attempted ambush.
Madam Cherry listens, her expression unreadable as always, but her sharp eyes catch something—something off.
A slight clench of Lyra's fist.
It is brief, almost imperceptible. Not the kind born of anger, but of disturbance. A stray thought, a lingering memory that has unsettled her.
Madam Cherry leans back in her chair, fingers steepled together. "Something on your mind, Lyra?"
Lyra blinks, her brows furrowing for half a second before she shakes her head. "No, ma'am. Just recounting everything thoroughly."
Madam Cherry hums, letting the silence stretch. She observes further—Lyra's ears are slightly red, and there is the faintest dusting of color on her cheeks.
Ah.
Madam Cherry nearly smirks.
So, something did happen last night.
One person comes to mind.
Time to confirm her suspicion.
She shifts in her seat, feigning nonchalance. "Edric handled the negotiations well, then?"
Lyra gives a sharp nod, her professionalism still intact. "Yes. He was efficient and precise."
Madam Cherry tilts her head. "And after?"
Lyra's response is automatic. "After?"
Madam Cherry let the question linger. She doesn't need to say much—just enough to let Lyra trip over her own thoughts.
And sure enough—
Lyra's hand twitches ever so slightly before she forces it still. A flicker of hesitation crosses her face, a split-second delay in her usual sharp responses. "We parted ways."
Madam Cherry hums again, pretending to be satisfied. "I see."
She can feel the shift in Lyra's stance—subtle, but there.
That isn't the full story.
And now, Madam Cherry knows.
She decides to prod just a little more, pushing the knife in carefully. "Glad to hear you're both working so well together. Good partnerships are hard to come by."
Lyra's lips part slightly, as if about to respond, but then she hesitates, just for a moment.
That is enough.
Madam Cherry doesn't need a confession. She has already won.
She smiles lightly and waves a dismissive hand. "That's all for now. Feel free to do what you have to."
Lyra nods, clearly eager to leave. "Understood, ma'am." She turns on her heel, moving swiftly toward the door—perhaps a little too swiftly.
Madam Cherry waits until the door shuts behind her.
Then, with a slow smirk, she picks up her communicator.
Cherry:Charming as your dad, huh, Edric.
A moment later, her screen blinks.
Edric:What are you talking about?
Cherry chuckles to herself as she types.
Cherry:Lyra's ears were red.
A long pause. Then—
Edric:…Goodbye, Aunt Cherry.
Cherry:Oh, don't be shy. I'm so proud.
The screen remains silent after that, but Madam Cherry can feel her nephew's frustration from miles away.
Utterly worth it.
Edric leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly as he scans through the reports on his datapad. His mind is still sharp, still focused, but somewhere in the back of his thoughts lingers the memory of last night.
The uncharacteristic message from Lyra.
The way she has admitted to enjoying dinner. The abrupt way she has cut off their conversation, almost as if she has caught herself slipping into something… softer.
He has gone to bed in an unusually good mood.
Then, his communicator lit up.
Cherry:Charming as your dad, huh, Edric.
His brows furrowed, irritation flaring at the vague accusation. What was she—
Before he could type back, another message arrived.
Cherry:Lyra's ears were red.
Edric's fingers freeze over the screen.
A beat of silence.
Then, a slow exhale.
He closes his eyes briefly, dragging a hand down his face as a wave of mixed emotions crashes over him.
Damn it.
Glee curls in his chest like an ember sparking into a slow-burning fire. The fact that he has an effect on Lyra—the composed, sharp, and often unreadable Lyra—is deeply, undeniably satisfying.
His aunt's words are meant to tease, to provoke a reaction, but she has unintentionally handed him a gift. He can picture it now—Lyra, standing before Cherry, her posture firm, her report flawless, but the telltale heat dusting her ears, a betrayal of something softer, something personal.
A part of him wishes that he were the one who had been there to see it himself.
But then—
Irritation flares just as quickly.
Because, of course, Aunt Cherry just have to see it instead of him.
She picks up the subtle attraction between them before he can. And, of course, she is using it as ammunition to mess with him.
His jaw clenches as he types out a curt response.
Edric:What are you talking about?
He knows it is futile. Cherry has already won the moment she sent that message.
A moment later—
Cherry:Lyra's ears were red.
That damn statement.
As if she is savoring every bit of amusement from his predicament.
Edric lets out a slow, measured breath, forcing himself not to react. Not outwardly, at least.
But inwardly…
His thoughts betray him.
He imagines it far too easily—Lyra, flustered yet trying to keep her usual composure, standing before Cherry, unknowingly revealing more than she intended. The subtle tension, little signs that Cherry, ever the predator when it came to weaknesses, has latched onto instantly.
And now he is thinking about it too much.
A fresh wave of frustration settles in.
He has an inkling that his Aunt will not let this go. If he engages further, she'll only press harder, picking apart his reactions with surgical precision.
So, instead—
Edric:…Goodbye, Aunt Cherry.
Her response is immediate.
Cherry:Oh, don't be shy. I'm so proud.
Edric tosses his communicator onto the desk and leans back, pinching the bridge of his nose.
There is no winning against her.
Still…
He finds himself smiling.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
Lyra had barely stepped into the training hall when she felt it—an impending ambush.
Too late.
A pair of shadows moved in perfect synchronization, and before she could dodge, two figures flanked her on either side.
"Good morning, Lyra," Theresa drawls, a sly smirk already in place.
Claire loops an arm around Lyra's shoulder, her grin practically glowing with mischief. "We were just talking about you."
Lyra sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Here we go again.
The twins have been relentless ever since they spotted her dining with Edric, and despite dodging their inquiries last time, she can already tell they aren't going to let her go this time.
"I have training to do," she mutters, attempting to slip past them.
"No, no, no, we have questions to ask." Theresa blocks her escape.
Claire leans in closer, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Spill. Dinner. Edric. Now."
Lyra exhales sharply. "It was dinner. We ate, we talked. That's it."
Theresa rolls her eyes. "You ate? Talked? Wow, so riveting."
Claire pokes her side. "C'mon, details!"
Seeing no way out, Lyra surrenders with a resigned sigh. "Fine. We had dinner, chatted about mundane things, and had dessert. Then we parted ways. Happy?"
The twins exchange a knowing glance, clearly not satisfied, but before they can probe further, Theresa snaps her fingers as if remembering something.
"Wait a second—what about that other guy?"
Claire's eyes sparkle with delight. "Ohhh, the handsome guy from the restaurant."
Lyra stiffens.
Damn it.
Claire wags a finger at her. "Don't think we missed that. A charming stranger gave you his number, and you just brushed it off?"
Theresa gasps in mock offense. "Lyra, you wound me! How could you ignore such an opportunity?"
Lyra groans. "Because I wasn't interested?"
The twins are unsatisfied with Lyra's answer.
"Okay, that's it. Call him," Claire demands.
Lyra blinks. "Excuse me?"
Theresa nods sagely. "Yeah. You're calling him. Right now."
Lyra scoffs. "Like hell I am."
Claire gives her an impish grin. "That's okay. I'll do it for you."
Lyra's stomach drops. "What?"
With a flourish, Claire reaches into her pocket—no, Lyra's pocket—and pulls out—
The number.
Lyra's eyes widen. "How did you—? I threw that away!"
Claire smirks. "Oh, you thought you threw it away. But I retrieved it. Because I know you."
Lyra feels her world tilt. "Claire. Don't."
Theresa cackles. "Oh, she's definitely calling him."
Before Lyra can even snatch the paper away, Claire dials the number.
Lyra freezes.
The dial tone ring once.
Then twice.
And then—
A smooth, amused voice answers. "Hello?"
Lyra wants to die.
Claire beams. "Hi there! I'm Lyra's friend, and I'd like to confirm a date for her."
Theresa is howling with laughter.
Lyra's soul leaves her body.
Lyra struggles against Theresa's iron grip, but the woman has always been deceptively strong.
"Let me go!" Lyra hisses, glaring daggers at Claire, who is cheerfully wrapping up the conversation with the so-called handsome stranger.
Claire ignores her struggles, still speaking into the communicator with unshakable ease.
"Uh-huh… Tomorrow evening? That sounds perfect!" she practically sings, winking at Lyra.
Lyra grits her teeth. "Claire—"
"Oh, don't worry about what to wear! She's got plenty of options," Claire continues smoothly, her voice dripping with amusement.
Theresa tightens her hold as Lyra makes another attempt to lunge. "Nope. Stay put."
Lyra glares. "I swear, Theresa, if you don't let go, I'm—"
Claire giggles. "Yes, she'll meet you at the Grand District Plaza at eight. See you then!"
She hungs up, looking absolutely pleased with herself.
Lyra finally wrenches herself free, rounding on Claire with a deadly look.
"You. What the hell was that?!"
Claire's teasing smile suddenly fades.
The air between them shifts.
Claire's playful demeanor turns serious, her eyes sharp and assessing. Theresa, standing beside Lyra, crosses her arms, her own expression darkening.
"Listen carefully, Lyra," Claire states, her voice lowering. "That guy? We have reasons to believe he's not just some flirty stranger."
Lyra's anger wavers. "What?"
Theresa nods. "He might be an undercover agent from an opposing faction."
Lyra's brow furrows. "That's a hell of an assumption."
Claire raises an eyebrow. "Is it? Think about it. He just so happened to be at the restaurant where you and Edric dined just after you negotiated with the mafia. He conveniently made contact with you right after we disrupted an operation that crippled a hidden agency."
Lyra's stomach turns.
Claire continues. "We can't say for certain yet, but the timing is too good to ignore."
Theresa adds, "Which is why you're going on that date."
Lyra takes a step back. "Hold on—excuse me?!"
Theresa smirks again, but this time it isn't just playful—it is calculating. "Congratulations, Lyra. You're officially bait."
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
Madam Cherry leans back in her chair, a cup of tea in her hand, as she listens to the twins relay their plan. The dim light of her private study casts shifting shadows across her face, but the amusement in her eyes is unmistakable.
Theresa and Claire, standing before her, are practically buzzing with excitement.
"So, Lyra goes on the date, and we handle the observation and tailing," Claire summarizes confidently.
Theresa nods. "If he's clean, no harm done. But if he makes a single suspicious move, we'll be ready."
Cherry takes a sip of her tea, then glances over at Lyra, who is sitting across from her, arms crossed.
"And what do you think of this little scheme?"
Lyra sighs, closing her eyes momentarily, then answers.
"I think it's worth pursuing."
Her eyes glimmer with something sharp. "If someone's using this opportunity to lure me out, then I want to see if I can navigate through it. I want to see if I can hold my own where words and intent are the weapons."
Madam Cherry lets out a low chuckle.
"How ambitious."
She sets her teacup down and rests her chin on her hand, studying Lyra with quiet amusement.
Lyra's face remains impassive. "I want to test myself."
At that, Madam Cherry's lips curl into a smile. "Then here's my advice: don't try too hard."
Lyra blinks. "What?"
Madam Cherry tilts her head.
"The most dangerous thing you can do in a battlefield of words is to overthink your own footing. If this man truly is an agent, then he's already studied your profile. Any deviation from your usual behavior will tip him off."
Theresa grins. "So, just be your usual, lovely, and brutally direct self."
Claire snickers. "If anything, that alone might throw him off."
Lyra rolls her eyes. "Great. So I just have to act natural while you two lurk in the shadows."
Madam Cherry raises a brow, her smile widening. "Precisely."
She leans forward, tapping a single finger on her desk.
"Play your part, Lyra. Let the twins do the uncovering. After all…" Madam Cherry's voice takes on a knowing edge. "A hunter never shows all their cards before the trap is set."
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
The café is warm, filled with the comforting hum of conversation and the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee. Lyra sits across from the handsome man who has approached her days ago, her expression easy, her posture relaxed. She wears her usual sleek, practical clothes—nothing overly feminine, nothing that stands out—but the subtle wave in her hair and the delicate touch of makeup on her face make her seem just a touch more polished than usual.
A quiet elegance that isn't forced, just enhanced.
She sips her coffee, hazelnut eyes watching the man with quiet amusement as he recounts a story about his travels. He is charming—smooth without being overbearing, engaging without pressing too deeply. A natural conversationalist.
"So," he states, leaning forward with an easy smile, "do you always let strangers buy you coffee, or should I feel special?"
Lyra smiles slightly, tapping a nail against her cup. "I wouldn't get ahead of yourself."
He chuckles, seemingly at ease. But beneath the polished exterior, Lyra can see the subtle probing in his words, the way he carefully guides the conversation to gauge her reactions.
She plays along, giving answers that are neither too vague nor too telling, just enough to match what he expected to hear. She lets her usual bluntness slip into the conversation in the right places, balanced with just enough intrigue to keep him comfortable in his assumptions.
And it works.
The man subtly shifts, relaxing into the role of the trusted acquaintance, the one who is earning her confidence. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he adjusts the cuff of his sleeve and taps a sequence into his comm-link.
A message is sent.
Lyra doesn't react.
But the twins, hidden within the shadows of the city, are already moving.
From a distant vantage point, Theresa's eyes glow slightly as she intercepts the transmission. It is brief, coded in an unassuming encryption, but the meaning is clear:
Target is as described. She can be manipulated for further advantage. Proceed accordingly.
A silent signal passes between the twins.
Eliminate.
Claire moves first, a blade in the dark. The faction that has been waiting for confirmation, expecting their pawn's intel to be delivered unhindered, never even has the chance to realize their mistake.
A base that has been monitoring the situation remotely goes dark. A handler who had been standing by for further instructions slumps against his desk, a clean incision at his throat.
One by one, they are erased.
By the time the man across from Lyra reaches for his next sip of coffee, the organization he has just contacted no longer exists.
Lyra continues the conversation effortlessly, never giving any sign that she knows what has just transpired.
She lets the date play out naturally, offering easy smiles, responding with genuine amusement when warranted, and nodding thoughtfully as he spoke. When he pays for the bill and offers to walk her to the station, she accepts, acting every bit the composed yet subtly intrigued woman he believes her to be.
The moment he realizes his faction is gone, it will already be too late.
And Lyra will be nothing more than a pleasant memory in the aftermath of his failure.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
The scent of blood is faint in the cold night air, masked beneath the acrid smoke curling from a burning terminal. Bodies slump in the shadows of an abandoned warehouse district. The last remnants of a once-thriving faction are now reduced to nothing more than whispers of the past.
Edric stands atop a rusted steel platform, a gloved hand adjusting his coat as he surveys the aftermath of his work. The operation has been efficient, targeting key informants, cutting off financial pipelines, and severing their network before it can pose a threat.
Yet, as he steps over a fresh corpse still clutching a silenced weapon, he spots something unusual.
Two figures, moving with the casual ease of people who have already completed their objective, stroll through the carnage with an air of self-satisfaction.
Edric's eyes narrow.
The twins.
Theresa and Claire are already finishing off the last stragglers, their expressions smug as if they have just wrapped up a friendly spar rather than a silent massacre.
"Well," Theresa drawls, twirling a knife between her fingers. "Didn't expect to see you here, Edric."
Claire grins, stepping lightly over a fallen body. "You're a little late. We already cleaned up."
Edric exhales sharply through his nose. "I wasn't here to clean up after you." His sharp gaze flickers over the ruins of the faction. "This was a loose end my people needed to tie off."
"Oh?" Claire feigns surprise, placing a hand over her chest. "And here we thought we were doing you a favor. You should be grateful."
Theresa tilts her head, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, but maybe you'd have been on time if you weren't so distracted."
Edric's jaw tightens. He knows that tone—knows when the twins are up to something. "What are you getting at?"
Claire's grin widens. "Oh, nothing~ Just that Lyra's on a date."
Edric freezes for half a second. The twins didn't miss it.
"Yep, some handsome guy asked for her number," Theresa adds, watching him closely. "And she said yes. Can you believe that?"
Claire leans in as if sharing a secret. "Apparently, they're hitting it off really well."
Edric's fingers curl slightly, but he forces himself to remain impassive. "And?" he asks flatly.
Theresa pouts. "No reaction? That's no fun."
He exhales, brushing off their teasing with practiced ease. "If this man is suspicious, I expect you two to have already handled it."
Theresa smirks. "We did. He didn't even notice a thing."
Edric nods. "Good. Now, share your intel."
Claire taps her chin. "Hmm… what should we ask in return?"
Theresa snaps her fingers in faux realization. "How about a date?"
Edric raises a brow. "A date?"
"With us," Claire clarifies, grinning. "Since you seem so bothered about Lyra's, maybe you should take us out instead."
Edric gives them a look of pure deadpan exasperation. "That's not happening."
Theresa sighs dramatically. "So cold. No wonder Lyra—"
Edric cuts her off with a sharp glare. "Just send the report."
The twins exchange an amused glance before shrugging in unison. "Fine, fine. But you owe us, dear Prince of Combat~"
Edric says nothing, but as he turns away, the twins don't miss the sharp flicker of irritation in his expression.
Or how quickly he is checking his messages.
Edric has the patience of a trained operative, the discipline of a man who thrived under pressure, but right now, his irritation is mounting.
"I mean, they're probably still out chatting, maybe even leaning in close," Theresa muses, her voice thick with fake innocence.
Claire gasps dramatically. "Do you think she's laughing at all his jokes? Maybe twirling her hair a little?"
Edric's grips on his comm device tightens. He is above this. He isn't going to rise to their bait.
Then Claire sighs wistfully. "Too bad you can't message her right now. She's busy on a date, after all."
Without thinking, Edric flicks open his device and types.
"Where are you?"
The second he sends it, he realizes his mistake.
The twins have caught the movement, and before he can even retract the message, Claire's eyes gleam with pure devilish delight.
"Oho~?"
Theresa is already pulling up her own comms. "Guess we should call Lyra, huh? Put her on speaker. Just in case you're worried about her, Dear Brother in Arms~."
Edric exhales sharply, but he doesn't stop them. His gaze flicks to the screen, waiting.
After a few rings, Lyra picks up.
"What now?" comes her mildly amused voice.
Claire leans into the comm, grinning. "Oh, nothing~ Just checking in. How's the date?"
Lyra makes a thoughtful hum. "Mmm. It's fine."
Theresa smirks. "Fine? That's all? Not having a wonderful, once-in-a-lifetime, heart-throbbing experience?"
Lyra chuckles. "Hardly. I've had better dinners."
Edric's comm buzzes. Another message.
Lyra:"I'm on a date."
Edric clenches his jaw. Of course, she'll answer bluntly.
Then another message follows.
Lyra:"But I enjoyed our dinner more."
Edric smirks.
The twins gasp.
Claire gapes at him. "Wait. Did she just—?"
Theresa leans over to peek at his screen. "She totally did."
Edric calmly puts his device away, smugness settling in his features. "You were saying?"
The twins groan dramatically, but their grins betray their excitement.
"This is so much better than what we expected," Claire whispers to Theresa.
Theresa nods. "We need to keep pushing."
Edric simply strides past them. "I'll be expecting the report by morning."
And for once, their teasing doesn't bother him one bit.
Once Edric is finally out of the twins' sight, he lets out a deep breath and immediately pulls up his comm.
Edric:"Dinner again?"
A few seconds pass.
Lyra:"Already?"
Edric grins.
Edric:"Unless you'd rather stay with your date?"
Another pause. Then—
Lyra:"Sure. Where?"
Edric's shoulders relax in great delight. He quickly turns to his subordinate. "Find a good place. Somewhere further this time."
The man blinks. "Further?"
Edric simply nods. If the twins catch a whiff of this, they'd meddle more than they already have.
Lyra is already planning to part ways with the handsome stranger when she pauses in her step and looks at the man.
Her companion raises an eyebrow. "Something wrong?"
Lyra shakes her head, a polite but firm smile forming. "It was a nice try, but not really something I'd do again."
He blinks in mild surprise before chuckling, leaning back. "Blunt. I like that."
Lyra only shrugs. "I'm not wasting anyone's time."
She then walks away, smoothing her clothes. Her hair and face have been a bit more done than usual, and she figures that it won't go to waste. After all, she is having dinner with Edric tonight.
And, of course, the twins immediately pick up on this.
In their shared comm channel, Theresa grins.
Theresa:"Called it."
Claire:"Of course we did. They're so predictable."
Theresa:"Should we tell Master?"
Claire:"Obviously."
And so, with absolutely no hesitation, the twins gleefully report—or rather, gossip—to Madam Cherry about Edric and Lyra's second dinner plan.
Cherry, as expected, is greatly amused.
Edric, more prepared this time, composes his message with precision.
Edric:"Dinner at Ardent Bistro, 7:30. I'll be waiting."
Short. Direct.
Lyra receives the message as she is close to the market district, just a few blocks away from Madam Cherry's base, her lips quirking up slightly. She still has time before the arranged dinner.
Her mind drifts back to their last meal—the way Edric handles utensils with seamless ease, yet she has caught it, that almost imperceptible twinge in his left wrist. A fleeting stiffness when he reaches for his glass, gone before anyone else could notice.
Her feet slow as she glances at a nearby storefront. A sleek, specialized shop catering to combat and tactical gear.
A wrist support with an automated warmer is designed to reduce pain and swelling. It isn't much, but it is something.
Stepping inside, she browses through the selection, looking for something practical yet comfortable. Her fingers brush over one with discreet but advanced support, designed for subtle relief without hindering movement.
She tests its elasticity, the reinforced pressure points—this will do.
After a quick purchase, she tucks the small package into her coat pocket, exhaling lightly. It isn't a big deal.
Just… a thank-you for dinner.
Since Edric hadn't let her pay.
That was all.
At least, that's what she tells herself.
Edric arrives at Ardent Bistro precisely at 7:30. The restaurant is modestly elegant, with warm lighting, the quiet hum of conversation, and a blend of delicate spices lingering in the air. He has chosen the place carefully, away from familiar eyes, offering them a quiet space without interruptions.
But none of that matters the moment Lyra steps through the door.
His breath stills, just for a second.
She isn't dressed extravagantly—her usual attire remains unchanged. But there are subtle differences. A soft glow to her skin, her hair neatly styled with a natural, effortless elegance. Her eyes are brighter, more alive.
It isn't an elaborate transformation, but to Edric, it is mesmerizing.
And then, she smiles at him—genuinely, openly, without restraint.
"I'm glad we're having dinner again," Lyra declares warmly as she takes her seat.
Edric, who has been perfectly composed during tense negotiations, deadly skirmishes, and espionage missions, finds himself momentarily off-balance. He masks it well, of course, but he can feel a slight warmth rising to his ears.
They settle into easy conversation, their dynamic as smooth as before, but there is an undeniable shift. Their conversations stretch beyond their usual mission-related topics. Lyra speaks about small, inconsequential things—her observations of the city, the amusing quirks of Madam Cherry's twins, and even some minor grievances about their latest assignments.
Edric finds himself listening intently, not out of obligation, but because he wants to know.
The food is excellent—rich flavors perfectly balanced—but it is the dessert that delighted Lyra the most.
A dark chocolate soufflé, paired with a side of vanilla cream and caramel drizzle. The moment she takes her first bite, her expression softened into pure bliss.
"This is incredible," she murmurs, taking another spoonful.
Edric, watching her enjoy the dessert so wholeheartedly, smiles, "You look like you've found enlightenment."
Lyra chuckles. "Maybe I have. If I ever betray you, it'll be for another serving of this."
He scoffs, but there is a distinct warmth in his gaze.
Then, as the plates are being cleared, the atmosphere shifts.
Lyra, as if suddenly remembering something, reaches into her coat pocket.
"Here," she comments, sliding a small package across the table.
Edric raises an eyebrow. "What is this?"
"A thank-you gift," she replies casually, but her fingers linger just slightly as she withdraws her hand.
He opens it carefully, revealing a wrist-supporter with warmer. Sleek. Tactical. Practical.
Edric's gaze lifts to her, unreadable at first. "...You noticed."
Lyra shrugs, but there is a softness in her expression. "It was subtle, but I saw the way your wrist tensed when we ate last time. I figured something like this might help."
Edric remains silent for a moment, staring at the gift in his hands.
It isn't extravagant. It isn't something grand.
But it is thoughtful. Deeply so.
Something only someone paying close attention to him would notice.
He looks back at Lyra, and something unspoken settles between them.
"Thank you," he declares, voice quieter than usual.
Lyra meets his gaze steadily. "You're welcome."
For the first time in a long while, Edric feels something unfamiliar stir in his chest. A warmth that has nothing to do with strategy, obligations, or duty.
Just something genuine.
Something undeniably personal.
More than a gesture.
Edric stares at the wrist warmer resting in his hands. A simple gift—practical, efficient, nothing extravagant.
And yet, he finds himself deeply affected.
Not many people in his life truly notice things about him. They see what he allows them to see—the refined composure, the sharp intellect, the calm precision with which he handled every situation. Even his own subordinates, though loyal, didn't observe him in the way Lyra did.
She has caught a detail so minor that even he has dismissed it.
She notice.
And it isn't because she is trying to gain favor, or because she has some ulterior motive.
She simply paid attention.
His throat tightens slightly as he clenches his fingers around the fabric, pressing his thumb against the smooth material.
He wants to say something.
That he will cherish it.
That this small act meant more than she can ever know.
But the words tangled somewhere inside him, unable to form in a way that didn't sound far too revealing. So he settles for a quiet, "Thank you."
Lyra, entirely unbothered by his pause, rests her chin on one hand and quirks a brow. "No need to overthink it. I only buy thank-you gifts for my partner."
Edric's head snaps up slightly at the blunt statement.
Then—he laughs.
A genuine, unrestrained chuckle left him, the warmth in his chest bubbling over into something light and uncontrollable.
Lyra blinks at him, slightly surprised. "What? Did I say something funny?"
He shakes his head, still smirking, but there is something softer in his expression. "No… just unexpected."
She narrows her eyes at him, but her lips twitch slightly, as if resisting a smile of her own.
Edric exhales, finally slipping the wrist warmer on. It fit perfectly—like it is meant for him.
"Then I'll wear it with pride," he murmurs, flexing his fingers to test the comfort.
Lyra gives an approving nod. "You better."
The rest of the dinner carries on with an ease neither of them fully expected. It is pleasant, effortless, even intimate in its own quiet way.
The food is delicious, but the company is what made it truly memorable.
As they step out into the cool night air afterward, Lyra stretches her arms over her head, sighing contentedly.
"That was nice," she admits without pretense.
Edric slips his hands into his pockets, watching her for a moment before nodding.
"Yeah," he agrees, voice lighter than usual. "It was."
And for once, there is no ulterior motive. No careful strategy.
Just them.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
The city lights shimmer in the distance, their soft glow reflecting off the sleek, dark hover car park just by the curb—Edric's personal vehicle.
He turns slightly toward Lyra, hands still casually tucked in his coat pockets. "I'll drive you back," he offers smoothly, tilting his head toward the car.
Lyra, who has been stretching slightly from the satisfying meal, blinks at him before letting out a small chuckle.
"If you did that, the twins would never let me live it down," she states dryly. "I'd like to get some sleep tonight, not spend hours dodging their interrogation."
Edric smirks at her response, but there is a glint in his eye that doesn't fade so easily. He tilts his head slightly, considering her, before murmuring, "Someday, then."
It isn't a question.
It is a quiet, unspoken promise.
Lyra looks up at him, the subtle weight in his words not lost on her. She studies him for a moment, then, without hesitation, nods.
"Yeah," she says simply. "Someday."
Edric's lips curl into a satisfied smirk. "I'll hold you to that."
They part ways soon after, Edric stepping toward his car while Lyra turns in the direction of Madam Cherry's base.
Neither of them turns back, yet somehow, they don't need to.
But from a distance, hidden behind a cluster of parked hover bikes, a pair of figures crouch low, their eyes wide with excitement.
Theresa and Claire, the infamous twins, barely contain their squeals of giddiness.
Theresa clutches Claire's arm with both hands, shaking her slightly as she whispers, "Did you see that? Did you see that?"
Claire nods furiously, barely able to hold back her grin. "He literally said someday. And she agreed. Oh, we are so not letting her escape this."
Theresa presses her hands against her flushed cheeks, practically vibrating from excitement. "I bet they don't even realize how intimate that was. It's practically a confession!"
Claire smirks mischievously. "Not yet. But soon."
As Lyra disappears into the distance and Edric's hover car smoothly pulls away, the twins exchange a look and immediately begin plotting their next round of teasing.