For a moment, no one moved. The afternoon wind tugged at Oswald's jacket, carrying the scent of damp earth from the woods behind the school.
Lyra and her two companions stood firm by the gate, their eyes fixed on him. The tall boy's fingers twitched with energy, ready for whatever might happen. The girl with the glowing charm shifted nervously, glancing between Lyra and Oswald.
Oswald felt the hum in his chest deepen again, pulsing faster. His instincts whispered one thing: Don't fight here.
He glanced past them—past the school buildings, the open yard, and the tree line in the distance where the shadows grew long. The forest. Quiet. Empty. Away from everyone else.
Without a word, he turned and started walking.
Lyra frowned. "Hey! Where do you think you're going?"
Oswald didn't look back. His footsteps were steady, almost too calm. "You wanted to talk," he said over his shoulder. "Then we'll talk where no one can see."
Her team exchanged uneasy glances. The tall boy muttered, "He's leading us away."
Lyra's jaw tightened. "No. He's trying to protect them."
Oswald reached the edge of the woods, the sounds of the school fading behind him. He paused, looking up through the branches as sunlight flickered through the leaves. The energy inside him hummed stronger here, as if the air itself recognized him.
He exhaled slowly. "If you're going to come," he called without turning around, "then hurry up."
A few seconds later, he heard footsteps behind him—three of them.
Lyra's voice came, low and cold. "You shouldn't have run last night, Oswald. Now we do this the hard way."
Oswald's fingers curled into fists. The forest around them fell silent.
"I didn't ask for this," he said, his voice calm but dangerous. "But I'm not running anymore."