Chapter 5
1117 Words
Lyra’s POV
It’s 2:17 a.m.
The house is quiet.
Too quiet.
Like it's holding its breath.
And maybe I am too.
Because I’m standing once again in front of the third-floor door—barefoot, adrenaline-fueled, heartbeat hammering like it wants to break out of my chest.
I know it’s a bad idea.
I know I’ve been warned.
I know I could be caught.
But none of that stops me.
I need answers. And I’m done asking politely.
I pull the hairpin from my braid and crouch in front of the keypad. Not because I know how to crack it—but because desperation makes you try dumb things.
Then, to my surprise…
The door clicks open.
What?
I freeze.
For a second, I think it’s a trap. But curiosity? It’s louder than fear tonight.
So I open it.
Step inside.
And walk into hell.
---
The hallway is narrow. Cold. Lit only by a long row of recessed ceiling lights that hum like insects.
The air is different up here—heavier. Smells like old books and colder secrets.
I walk past closed doors. Each one numbered. None labeled.
Until I reach one that’s slightly ajar.
I push it open.
Inside: a bedroom.
But not just any bedroom.
Jade’s bedroom.
I know it instantly.
Not just because of the red silk scarf draped over the chair or the faint perfume I recognize from our shared bathroom growing up.
But because there's a photo of us—me and Jade—framed on the dresser.
She kept it.
Even when she left.
Even when she disappeared.
And that breaks something in me.
I pick up the frame.
There’s a note beneath it. Folded. Yellowed with time.
Before I can read it, I hear it.
The click of a shoe behind me.
Damien.
Of course.
---
Damien’s POV
She never listens.
Of course she doesn’t.
I should be furious. I should drag her out, lock the door, and erase every file she touched.
Instead, I watch her from the doorway.
She’s standing in Jade’s old room—holding that damn photo.
Her hand trembles. Just slightly.
Grief doesn’t always scream.
Sometimes, it whispers through clenched teeth and stubborn eyes.
“She kept it,” Lyra whispers.
“She kept a lot of things.”
She turns around. Her voice cracks. “Why didn’t you tell me this was here?”
“Because you weren’t ready.”
“And who the hell are you to decide what I’m ready for?”
I walk into the room.
“Someone who’s already lost too many people.”
That stops her.
For a moment, the anger softens. But only for a moment.
Then she throws the photo on the bed and pushes past me.
“You don’t get to control me.”
“I’m not trying to,” I say. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
I hesitate.
Everything.
But I say nothing.
She spins around. “You act like you’re this cold-hearted machine, but I see the cracks, Damien. I see the guilt. The obsession. So tell me right now—what did you do to her?”
My voice is quiet. Measured.
“I kept her alive.”
---
Lyra’s POV
The air leaves my lungs.
“You what?”
He walks toward me. Slowly. Like he’s stepping around landmines.
“She made choices. Got in deep with people who don’t forgive. She burned bridges. Betrayed someone powerful.”
“Who?”
He hesitates.
“I can’t say.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“You’re not ready.”
“I’ll decide that.”
We’re close now. Too close.
I want to hit him.
Or kiss him.
Or both.
Instead, I say:
“You treat me like I’m fragile.”
“No,” he says. “I treat you like you matter.”
My chest tightens.
And suddenly, it’s quiet again. That kind of silence that comes right before a storm.
Then he says it.
“Prove you’re ready.”
I blink. “How?”
He hands me a slip of paper. A name. An address.
“Go there tomorrow. Alone. Ask no questions. Just observe. Then report to me.”
“What is it?”
“A test.”
“Of what?”
“Your limits.”
I stare at him.
And I realize something terrifying.
He’s not just testing me.
He’s hoping I fail.
---
The Next Day
I go to the address.
It’s a club.
Underground. Loud. Flashing red lights. Music like a heartbeat in hell.
I enter. No questions asked. Everyone already seems to know I’m supposed to be here.
I sit.
And I watch.
Men whispering. Money exchanging hands. Women laughing too loudly.
Then I see her.
A girl.
Barely legal. Crying in a hallway.
And a man grabs her arm.
Hard.
Something in me snaps.
I step forward. “Let her go.”
The man looks up. Freezes.
Then slowly releases her.
The girl runs.
The man watches me like I’m a threat he didn’t expect.
I turn and walk away.
Because I just broke Damien’s rule.
Observe. Don’t interfere.
And now I have to face him.
---
Damien’s POV
She returns an hour later.
Her eyes are sharp. Her shoulders squared.
“Did you interfere?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not you.”
She waits for punishment.
I say nothing.
She steps closer. “You think empathy is weakness.”
“No,” I say. “I think it’s expensive.”
We stare at each other.
The tension is louder than our words.
Then, before I can stop myself, I reach for her.
Our faces inches apart.
Her breath hitches.
She doesn’t back away.
And just when I think we’re about to cross the line—
She speaks.
Quiet. Raw.
“I hate that I trust you.”
And just like that, the moment shatters.
She walks away.
I let her.
Because if I kiss her now…
I won’t stop.
---
Lyra’s POV
Later that night, I can’t sleep.
Again.
So I go back.
To the third floor.
To Jade’s room.
This time, I notice something I missed.
A faint outline on the wall.
Like a square panel.
I press it.
Nothing.
Then I push harder.
It clicks.
The wall swings open—just slightly.
Inside is a hidden compartment.
Dusty.
Empty…
Except for a flash drive.
I take it.
Plug it into my laptop.
And the screen flickers to life.
A video.
Jade.
Crying.
Saying my name.
And behind her… a shadow.
A man I can’t see clearly.
But I know that voice.
Even distorted, I know it.
Damien.
---
- Writer
