The silence between us was loud. Not just quiet—loud. Every step through the back alleys echoed like a missed chance to speak. The air felt heavy, thick with everything we weren't saying. I could barely swallow around the knot in my throat. Something was going to give—I could feel it.
We weren't even halfway through the mission, but the weight of Finn's stare was unmistakable. Sharp. Angry. He didn't say a word, but he didn't have to. Guilt was already coiled tight around my chest, making it hard to breathe. I wanted to vanish into the shadows, erase the last ten minutes. But the truth clung to me like an anchor: I'd screwed up. Bad.
When we finally slowed, out of sight of the patrols, Finn's voice cut through the dark, low and tense.
"What the hell was that, Lyra?"
Each word hit harder than the last.
"Do you realize how close that was to getting us killed?"
I flinched, more from the truth in his voice than the volume. "I didn't mean to," I said, barely above a whisper. "It just… happened."
"Magic doesn't just happen," he snapped. He was trying to keep his voice down, but I could see the way his fists curled at his sides. "You lost control."
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. There was no excuse that would fix it. He was right—I had lost control.
Before he could say more, a hand landed on his shoulder.
"She's still learning," Elric said quietly. Calm, but with that steady edge he always had when he wanted someone to listen.
Finn let out a sharp breath through his nose, jaw tight. For a second, I thought he'd snap again. But instead, he just shook his head and turned away.
Elric looked at me, and gave the smallest nod. Just enough to say you're okay. It helped. A little.
We kept moving. Just a few more blocks to the rendezvous point. But everything felt off. My magic was still humming under my skin, erratic and unfamiliar—like it didn't belong to me. Every time I touched it, I risked making things worse.
Then I felt it. That shift in the air. A flicker of motion in the corner of my eye.
"Stay sharp," Finn murmured, scanning the dark. He knew. We all knew.
Footsteps. Too many. Behind us.
My pulse spiked. I reached for my dagger—cold comfort in my hand—but before I could do anything, a figure lunged out of the shadows. Finn reacted instantly—his blade flashing silver—but the attacker dodged like he saw it coming.
Then another came. And another.
"They're everywhere," I breathed.
"Dammit," Finn growled, eyes darting to Elric, who was already sliding into a defensive stance.
"Elric!" I said, panic slipping into my voice. "What do we do?"
But before he could answer, one of the soldiers slammed into Finn, knocking him back. His sword hit the ground with a sharp clang as he doubled over from the blow.
I froze.
The soldier didn't stop—he kicked Finn, hard, once, twice, before I found my voice.
"No!" I screamed.
And then the magic took over.
I didn't think. I didn't try. It just exploded out of me—fire, blinding and hot, roaring across the alley and slamming into the soldier. The wall shook from the impact. Everything went still.
Finn was on the ground, pale and gasping. He looked up at me, eyes wide—not angry anymore. Just stunned. Maybe a little grateful. Maybe something else I couldn't read.
"Lyra…" he rasped, wincing.
But we didn't have time.
More guards emerged, melting out of the shadows like ghosts. This wasn't over. Not even close.
"Elric!" I shouted. "What now?"
He was already moving, blade in hand, calm and deadly. "Hold the line," he said, and that was all I needed.
I nodded, trying to steady my breath. My magic still burned inside me, wild and volatile, but this time I held it tighter. I had to. There was no room for mistakes.
Not anymore.