Kaelen finished speaking.
The last word about the Tome of Symmetrical Harmony faded into the kitchen air, mixing with the scent of mushrooms and steam. He had explained everything—the requirements, the resonance, the necessity of emotional unity, the explosive growth awaiting them if they walked the path together.
He waited.
Surely she understood now. Surely she would see the brilliance of it.
Lyra did not speak.
She stood very still, hands resting on the table, fingers slightly curled. Her head was lowered, her hair casting a veil across her expression.
For one dangerous second, Kaelen thought she might be moved.
Then she laughed.
It wasn't warm.It wasn't amused.
It was the kind of laugh people made when they realized the universe had decided to personally insult them.
"Let me make sure," she said, voice calm in a way that made his spine stiffen. "Yesterday, you dragged me into your house. You demanded I date you. You spoke about destiny, ownership, eternity."
Each word landed like a hammer.
"And now," she continued, lifting her eyes to him, "you tell me you possess a miraculous scripture that requires me to willingly participate in order for you to benefit."
Kaelen nodded carefully. "When you say it like that, it sounds—"
"Shameless?" she supplied.
He chose silence.
Lyra stepped closer.
Not fast. Not aggressive.
But Kaelen felt the instinctive urge to retreat, like prey realizing the predator had already decided where it would bite.
"Do you," she asked, "ever listen to what I say?"
"I am listening," Kaelen replied immediately, posture straightening. "Very quietly. Extremely quietly."
Her eyebrow twitched.
"That is not what I asked."
His heartbeat sped up.
"Are. You. Listening?"
"Yes," he said.
"Louder."
He inhaled.
"YES, I AM LISTENING!"
From beyond the thin apartment wall came an irritated shout.
"Oi! Keep it down! If you're going to quarrel with your wife, do it in the bedroom like civilized people!"
The world stopped.
Kaelen felt his soul attempt to leave his body.
Slowly, mechanically, he turned back toward Lyra.
Her face had gone blank.
Which was worse than anger.
Much worse.
She exhaled through her nose, long and controlled, like someone containing a natural disaster.
"I see," she murmured. "So now the entire neighborhood believes I belong to you."
"I can explain—" Kaelen tried.
"Good," she interrupted. "Explain while memorizing your punishment."
He swallowed.
"Punishment…?"
Lyra pulled out a chair and sat with perfect grace, crossing one leg over the other like a judge preparing to deliver a verdict.
"For the next seven days," she began, "you will sleep on the sofa."
He nodded at once. Too fast.
"You will prepare the meals."
Nod.
"You will clean the house."
Nod.
"You will wash dishes, fetch supplies, and handle any labor that could remotely be described as inconvenient."
Nod nod nod.
"And," she added pleasantly, "you will do it without complaint, excuses, or tragic speeches about destiny."
His lips clamped shut.
She leaned forward.
"If you fail," she said softly, "I will demonstrate creative consequences. You will discover new meanings for the words regret and poor judgment."
Kaelen's imagination betrayed him with several vivid possibilities.
None were survivable.
He raised a hesitant finger.
"You… you told me to speak loudly," he whispered.
Lyra looked at the finger.
Then at him.
"Oh," she said. "So you're negotiating."
The air temperature dropped.
"NO, MA'AM!" Kaelen blurted. "Seven days is generous! Extremely merciful! I was thinking it might be a month! Or a year! Seven is wonderful!"
Lyra went still.
Completely still.
Kaelen realized, too late, that he had continued speaking after achieving safety.
A slow smile spread across her lips.
"Oh?" she asked softly. "You think seven days is merciful?"
His survival instinct began screaming.
"I misspoke," he said immediately. "Terrible speaking accident. Very tragic."
"But you brought up a month," she continued, ignoring him, tapping a finger against her arm as if calculating interest on a debt. "Which means, subconsciously, you were prepared for a longer sentence."
Kaelen began sweating.
"I was not prepared," he clarified weakly. "I was hypothetically unprepared."
Lyra stood.
Every movement was elegant.
Every step toward him shortened his life expectancy.
"If you like it so much," she said pleasantly, "then let's make it educational."
She stopped in front of him.
"Two months."
The words landed like heavenly judgment.
Kaelen's soul left his body, looked back at the situation, and decided not to return.
"T-two…?" he croaked.
"Sixty days," Lyra confirmed. "Character building."
He almost collapsed.
"I can build character in seven!" he tried desperately. "I build very fast!"
She smiled at him.
It was the smile of someone who had found stability in chaos.
"I believe in long-term investments," she replied.
Finally, she leaned back.
"Good," she said.
Relief almost knocked him unconscious.
Then she smiled.
It was beautiful.
It was terrifying.
"Start with the dishes," she finished.
Kaelen moved with the speed of enlightenment.
Behind him, Lyra watched, tapping her finger lightly against her arm.
The mighty possessor of heaven-defying destiny.
Reduced to dishwashing.
Her lips curved.
For the first time in a long while, she felt something dangerously close to control.
And strangely…
a little less broken.
This, she thought, I can work with.