The bar was quiet, but not peaceful.
Lyra wiped the rim of a glass, her movements precise, mechanical, detached. Behind her, the low hum of jazz mingled with the clinking of bottles. Nocturne was empty except for a few lingering clients—men in tailored suits whose eyes seemed to glow a little too bright, and women who smelled like smoke and secrets.
She didn't flinch.
Not when the bartender's apprentice screamed at a spilled drink.
Not when the vampire leaning against the black marble bar flexed his claws under the table.
Not when the demon sitting near the back tapped his long fingers against the wood, the sound sharp enough to cut glass.
Years of surviving the city had taught her one thing: don't react. Don't show fear. Don't invite attention.
Tonight, she had perfected the act.
"Another?" she asked, sliding a dark amber drink toward a man whose eyes shimmered red.
He smirked, revealing a hint of sharp teeth. "Make it strong. I have a long night ahead."
Lyra didn't ask questions. She filled the glass, her movements fluid, practiced. She had learned to read people by small tells: a twitch of a lip, the curl of a fingertip, the subtle tremor in a shadow. Most humans didn't notice it—but she did. And tonight, her eyes caught something else.
A figure standing on the private balcony overlooking the bar. Silent. Motionless. Watching.
He didn't approach. Didn't move. Didn't blink.
Lyra tilted her head, pretending to adjust a bottle, pretending she hadn't noticed.
Not human.
The thought didn't scare her. She'd served beings who could have torn her in half without warning. Nocturne was a sanctuary for monsters, and she had learned the rules: you didn't survive by showing weakness. You survived by mastering control.
The bell above the door jingled.
Her heart didn't skip.
Her pulse didn't race.
A human woman entered, drenched in rain, eyes darting nervously. She looked around like she expected the shadows themselves to move. Lyra gestured to the counter.
"Find a seat. I'll be right with you."
The woman nodded, clutching her coat tighter.
And then it happened.
The vampire at the bar leaned forward, one hand brushing the rim of Lyra's glass. His red eyes flared. "You've been serving me for months," he said, voice low, gravelly. "And yet… you never flinch."
Lyra met his gaze evenly. "Why would I?"
"Most humans would scream, beg… run. You…" His lips curled. "…are not most humans."
Lyra smiled faintly. "Not human. You got that right."
He laughed, sharp and hollow, before letting his hand fall.
She didn't see it coming.
The alley on the way home was quiet, almost unnervingly so. Mercer Avenue had always been a shortcut she relied on. No traffic. No cats. No stray dogs. Just her and the shadows.
Footsteps.
They didn't echo like her own.
Something was behind her.
She slowed. The figure did not.
"Don't run," a voice whispered from the darkness. "It makes it more fun."
Lyra didn't flinch. She didn't panic. She only straightened her back and inhaled. Calm, precise, controlled.
Then it lunged.
Teeth sank into her neck.
Pain. Sharp. Piercing.
And then fire.
Heat exploded along her veins. Her blood flared, burning from within. The creature screamed—a horrible, gurgling sound that tore through the night. Its claws raked at the air, but they burned the moment they touched her.
Lyra stepped back, silent, expression flat. Her pulse slowed. Her heartbeat measured.
The monster convulsed, smoke curling from its skin, eyes wide with terror. In seconds, it was ash at her feet.
And above her, on a rooftop across the street, the silver-eyed man watched. Motionless. Silent.
He was ancient. He was dangerous.
And for the first time in centuries, something had caught his attention.
Something that refused to follow the rules.
"Interesting," he murmured.
Lyra didn't notice him—not yet. She only felt the strange, intoxicating heat in her veins, the first taste of a power she didn't understand.
Something inside her had awakened.
And the city had noticed.