Chapter 11

The city buzzed around her, a restless symphony of honking cars and distant chatter. Lyra Evans barely heard it. The cold wind bit at her skin, but she kept walking, pulling her jacket tighter around herself.

She had nowhere to go.

Not yet.

Her apartment was no longer safe. Not with Colie—not with the way he had looked at her earlier.

She swallowed, heart pounding as she checked over her shoulder. The street was crowded, but she felt watched. Maybe it was paranoia. Maybe it was something worse.

Either way, she couldn't stop moving.

Something was wrong.

It had started earlier that evening. The whispers—the ones she tried to ignore—had grown sharper, clearer. At first, she thought she was losing her mind, but then the shadows moved.

Not the normal shifting of streetlights or passing cars.

They stretched, reaching toward her, their edges flickering unnaturally.

She quickened her pace, heart hammering, but the presence followed.

Then, just ahead, she saw it.

A figure stood at the corner of the street, motionless, wrapped in something that wasn't quite fabric but wasn't quite shadow either. Its head tilted as if watching her.

Lyra froze.

The whispers swelled.

"You are not whole."

The voice wasn't loud, yet it cut through the silence like a blade. A chill ran down her spine as she realized—no one else was around. The streets had emptied, the distant sound of traffic dull and far away, like she had stepped into a different reality.

The figure shifted. Not forward, not backward, but deeper, like it was sinking into the space between the world.

Panic gripped her.

She turned—

—and collided straight into Colie.

"Lyra."

Her stomach twisted at the voice.

She turned slowly, meeting Colie's gaze. his dark eyes locked onto hers with silent fury.

"Lyra?" His voice was sharp with irritation. His grip on her arms was too tight. "What the hell? You weren't answering my calls."

She tried to pull away, her breath still unsteady from the thing she had just seen. "Let go, Colie."

But he didn't. His fingers dug in slightly, his dark eyes narrowing. "I've been looking for you all week. And now you're wandering around like some lost stray? You know how pathetic that looks?"

Her stomach twisted. The words didn't even hurt—not really. She didn't know why, but she had stopped feeling anything when he spoke like this.

She glanced back over her shoulder, but the figure was gone.

A trick of the mind? No. She knew better.

Colie followed her gaze, scoffing. "What? What is it now?"

She turned back to him, swallowing the rising panic. "Nothing. I need to go."

He didn't move. "We need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about."

His jaw tightened. "The hell there isn't. You've been acting weird, avoiding me, and now you're—what? Running around in the middle of the night like a damn lunatic?" He laughed, but it was mocking, not amused. "God, Lyra, do you even hear yourself?"

Lyra clenched her fists. The old version of herself—the one from before she woke up in this body—might have stayed quiet, let him win just to avoid another argument.

But she wasn't that person anymore.

She took a deep breath. "Colie, I don't care what you think. We're done."

His expression darkened. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Her voice was steady. "I'm not yours. You don't own me."

Something in his eyes shifted, his anger deepening into something colder. "Oh, so this is what we're doing now?" He let go of her arms, but his stance stayed tense, like he was barely keeping himself from grabbing her again. "You think you can just walk away? After everything?"

Her pulse pounded. She didn't answer.

That only pissed him off more.

His voice lowered, full of quiet venom. "You don't get to decide when this ends, Lyra."

Lyra's breath hitched.

Not out of fear.

But because she felt nothing.

No hurt. No doubt. No second-guessing.

Just clarity.

"bye,I'm done, Colie," she said, voice steady. "I'm not coming back."

Silence.

Then—

"Bullshit."

His voice was sharp, mocking, as if the very idea of her leaving was laughable.

"You're not serious." He scoffed, stepping closer. "I don't know what kind of phase you're going through, but you'll come crawling back when you realize you can't handle life without me."

And then she ran.

Her boots pounded against the pavement. Her breath came sharp and quick.

She didn't stop.

Not when Colie shouted after her. Not when people turned to stare.

She just needed to—

Headlights.

Lyra barely had time to turn before the black luxury car came too fast.

The screech of tires. The jolt of impact.

Pain slammed through her body as she was thrown to the ground, her vision exploding in white.

For a moment, the world blurred—city lights spinning, distant voices rising in panic.

Then—nothing.

---

The warmth of leather seats was the first thing she noticed.

Lyra's mind swam as she forced her eyes open, blinking at the dimly lit interior of a car. The scent of expensive cologne filled the space, subtle yet unmistakable.

A voice spoke from the front. "Well, that was unfortunate."

She turned her head slowly.

The driver was a sharply dressed older man, his silver hair slicked back, his face unreadable. He barely spared her a glance in the rearview mirror before tapping the Bluetooth device in his ear.

"Sir, there's been an incident."

A pause. Then a response—a voice low, controlled, and unreadable.

"Explain."

The driver sighed. "A young woman ran into the street. No fatal injuries, but I couldn't leave her there."

Another pause.

Then—

"Bring her to me."

The call cut off.

Lyra's stomach twisted. What the hell was happening?

She pushed herself up, ignoring the dull ache in her limbs. "Where—where are you taking me?"

The driver finally turned, meeting her gaze with polite indifference.

"To see my employer."

---

The car pulled up to a high-rise building, towering over the city with quiet authority. Lyra barely had time to catch her breath before the door opened.

A man stood waiting.

Tall, impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit, his presence commanded attention effortlessly. His sharp steel-blue eyes flicked over her, assessing—calculating.

There was something undeniably powerful about him. Not just in the way he carried himself, but in the way the very air around him seemed to shift.

Lyra's pulse jumped.

She didn't know him.

But for some reason, she felt like she should.

He didn't speak immediately. Instead, he studied her with something unreadable in his gaze—like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit.

Then—

"You're awake."

His voice was even, controlled, but there was something else beneath it.

Something… curious.

Lyra swallowed, suddenly very aware of how expensive the place was—how out of place she was.

She cleared her throat. "Who—who the hell are you?"

A hint of amusement flickered in his eyes.

"Nikolai Evardome."

The name sent a shiver down her spine.

She had heard it before. Somewhere.

But why did it feel like she was forgetting something important?

What the hell had she just gotten herself into?