Chapter 55:
POV: Lyra
I woke up to the sound of nothing.
No machines.No voices.No city hum pressing against the walls.
Just stillness.
It took a moment to realize I was back in my room—the real one. High ceiling. Familiar scent. Curtains drawn halfway, letting in a pale, hesitant light. My body felt heavy, bruised in places I didn't want to think about, but wrapped in warmth.
Safe.
The word felt foreign.
I tried to move.
Pain answered first.
A sharp ache along my ribs, a dull throb at my temple, the lingering soreness of panic that had burned through my nerves and left them raw. My breath hitched despite myself.
"Easy."
Kieller's voice.
Low. Close.
I turned my head.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, coat gone, sleeves rolled up, jaw unshaven. He looked like he hadn't slept—eyes shadowed, expression carved from something tight and furious and controlled by sheer will.
For a second, I just stared at him.
Then the memories rushed back.
The room.The men.Aren's eyes.The hallway.Being lifted, carried, claimed by safety.
My hands clenched in the sheets.
"You're back," I said hoarsely.
He nodded once. "You fainted twice. Doctor sedated you lightly."
I swallowed. My throat burned. "How long?"
"A few hours."
It felt like longer.
The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. I could feel his tension like a live wire—contained, but humming.
"You shouldn't have come alone," he said finally.
There it was.
Not accusation.Not anger.
Fear, sharpened into steel.
I turned my face away. "I didn't plan to end up there."
"I know," he replied. "That's what scares me."
I laughed weakly. "You're not the one who was drugged and cornered."
He stood up abruptly.
The chair scraped softly against the floor.
"You think I don't know that?" His voice dropped, tight. "You think I didn't see the way your hands were shaking? The way your pulse spiked when those men stepped forward?"
I closed my eyes.
"I felt powerless," I whispered. "That's what broke me. Not them. Not Aren."
He went quiet.
Then I felt the bed dip.
Kieller sat again, closer this time—not touching, but near enough that I could feel his warmth.
"You weren't powerless," he said. "You survived. You fought. You held on long enough for me to get to you."
I opened my eyes, meeting his gaze. "You always arrive after the damage."
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
His jaw tightened.
"That won't happen again," he said immediately. Too immediately.
"Don't promise things you can't control."
"I can control this."
I studied him—really looked.
The arrogance was there, yes. The command, the sharpness. But underneath it all was something else now—something unsettled.
Guilt.
"What is Aren to you?" I asked quietly.
The question landed heavy.
Kieller didn't answer at first. His gaze dropped to his hands.
"Someone who knows too much," he said finally. "And someone who thinks proximity is leverage."
"He said I was a target," I said. "Because of you."
Kieller looked up sharply. "Did he hurt you?"
"No," I replied. Then, after a beat, "Not like that."
His shoulders eased a fraction—but his eyes darkened.
"I never meant for you to be exposed," he said. "I calculated threats. I accounted for risk."
"And I wasn't part of the equation," I finished.
He didn't deny it.
That hurt more than anything else.
"I don't want to be your blind spot," I said. "Or your weapon. Or your weakness."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You're none of those."
"Then what am I?"
Kieller looked at me—really looked this time.
"You're the variable I underestimated."
I let out a slow breath.
"That's not reassuring."
A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips, gone just as quickly. "It's the truth."
Another silence fell—this one heavier, layered with everything unsaid.
Outside, the city moved on like nothing had happened.
Inside, something had shifted.
"I don't feel like myself," I admitted softly. "I feel… cracked. Like if I close my eyes, I'll wake up there again."
He reached out then—careful, deliberate—and rested his hand over mine.
The contact grounded me instantly.
"You won't," he said. "I won't let that happen."
"You can't always be there."
"No," he agreed. "But I can make sure no one ever thinks you're easy to corner again."
I squeezed his hand once, then let go.
"Kieller," I said. "If you're hiding something from me—about Aren, about this 'project,' about why everyone keeps orbiting my life—tell me now."
His expression hardened.
"Not yet," he said.
I almost laughed.
"Of course."
He stood again, tension rolling back into place like armor snapping shut. "Rest. Heal. I'll handle the rest."
As he turned to leave, I spoke again.
"You carried me out like I was something precious," I said quietly. "Don't make me regret believing that meant something."
He stopped.
Didn't turn around.
"It does," he said. "That's the problem."
The door closed softly behind him.
I lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling.
My body was safe.
My mind wasn't.
And somewhere out there, Aren was waiting.
Not rushing.Not chasing.
Just certain.