Chapter 154
Chapter 154
Lyra's POV
I lowered my head and touched Orion's cold face.
His skin still carried the chill of night dew, the arc of his cheekbones identical to what lived in my memory, only now stripped of any warmth. My chest felt as though something had torn it open, pain spreading from my heart all the way to the tips of my limbs. Selene fell silent in the depths of my consciousness—the stillness that follows grief's devastation. But I knew I couldn't collapse, not now. I had to uncover the truth rather than allow myself to drown in sorrow.
Though reason made crystal clear what I should be doing at this moment, I gripped Orion's hand, my fingers clenched so tightly my knuckles turned white, unable to let go. He still wore that ring, the moonstone identical to the one on my index finger, pulling me back to the day he'd asked me to wait for him to return and marry me. What had once seemed like the most beautiful memory now felt unbearably cruel.
"Luna."
Darian's voice came from behind me, kept low as if afraid to disturb something.
"Let the Alpha go. He needs... to be laid to rest."
I remained silent for a long time—long enough that all the whispered conversations in the hall died down on their own, long enough that Isolde's crying transformed from choked sobs into soundless trembling. Finally, I released his hand. I gently placed it back at his side, drew the white cloth up over his chest, over his jaw, and stopped just before it reached his face.
"Pull all the surveillance footage from the villa over these past days," I said, turning toward the captain of the guard, my voice so cold I barely recognized it myself. "Every single minute. Don't miss anything."
The captain froze for a moment, then rushed off to carry out the order. Soon he returned with storage devices, projecting the images onto the hall's screen. I set the playback to maximum speed. The timeline flew backward until three evenings ago, when a figure appeared in the frame. I hit pause.
The shadow had slipped into the villa, checked left and right to confirm no one was watching, then pulled a small vial from a pocket and poured its contents into Orion's water glass. The face on screen belonged to Sylvia.
The hall erupted.
Several elders stepped forward from the crowd, their voices trembling with fury barely held in check. "We knew something was off about her behavior. A traitor like this must be arrested and buried alongside the Alpha!"
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Sylvia's POV
I sat in my bedroom flipping through a thick pharmaceutical tome, my brow furrowing unconsciously. In the past, I'd only dealt with minor abrasions that needed quick clotting during assassinations—that kind of treatment followed a standard protocol and required almost no thought. But seeing Ivar lying in bed last time, covered in blood, still repeating those words about keeping things from me, I'd realized that everything I knew was utterly useless for helping him. That sense of helplessness had been unbearable.
That's why I was sitting here now, turning page after page of obscure terminology like a student starting from scratch. During the first few days after Ivar's punishment, I couldn't focus on the books at all—which, frankly, was rather unworthy of my title as the top assassin. But back then I'd seemed to lose the ability to concentrate, wandering the corridors in a daze, reflexively stopping every time I heard movement from his room. Only after his injuries improved somewhat, when he could even return to work normally at the company, did I finally manage to settle down at my desk.
I pulled myself out of the memory and stared at an extremely obscure formula—some kind of mixed tincture that could accelerate soft tissue recovery after silver burns. Looking at the dense annotations, I felt nothing but a headache coming on. Reluctant as I was to admit it, I might genuinely lack some talent in this area.
After studying it for another moment, I picked up my phone, about to send Ian a message asking about the dosage ratios in this formula, when the screen suddenly lit up. The caller ID showed Otto. He usually came to find me directly; calling was rare. I hesitated before pressing accept.
"Sylvia," his voice came through with a note of admiration. "Worthy of the top assassin—I didn't expect you to move so efficiently. Orion is dead. The entire Blood Moon Cult is celebrating."
"What did you say?"
My fingers froze at the edge of the page.
Otto paused, then his tone took on a more relaxed, teasing quality. "Come on, stop being modest. I thought you'd gotten soft for that Ivar pup and couldn't bring yourself to do it, but I see I was worried for nothing. Kaelum's side should contact you soon—I imagine your bounty won't be small this time."
He rattled on at length, completely oblivious to my shock. I held the phone, thinking for a moment, confirming that I hadn't done that deed. Then I glanced at the time—nearly midnight. Otto had probably drunk too much again and was calling to spout nonsense.
At that thought, I set aside my alarm. I'd known Otto long enough, collaborated with him on at least a hundred jobs. There was nothing between us that required any guard. When I'd disposed of that vial earlier, I simply hadn't mentioned it to him because Ivar's injuries had distracted me. Now, seeing him obsess over this even while drunk, I decided to take this opportunity to tell him my decision.
"Are you drunk?" I interrupted him. "I never went after Orion. I already disposed of that poison."
The voice on the other end stopped for a beat.
"You disposed of it?" he said, his casual tone suddenly snapping clean away. "Why would you do that?"
The question stumped me for a second. Why—I hadn't thought about it. It was just that night after leaving Ivar's room, leaning against the corridor wall, the vial had felt particularly uncomfortable pressing against me, and I'd known I would never use it.
That fool Ivar would rather be beaten half to death than give me up. I couldn't stab him in the heart again.
"Perhaps," I said, my voice lighter than I'd expected, "I really have fallen in love with Ivar."
The other end of the line went silent for a long time—so long I thought he'd hung up. Then Otto's voice returned, carrying a hard, unfamiliar quality.
"Sylvia, have you forgotten how your family died? You once said you never wanted to go back to that kind of life. Now you're telling me you've fallen in love with some Blackwood family young master just because he took a beating for you? Do you think once he knows your true identity, he'll keep loving you?"
My fingers tightened on the edge of the page. I thought of my parents—executed as disposable pawns simply for backing the wrong side. After I'd escaped from that pack, I'd sworn never to let myself live under anyone's control again. I'd kept that oath for years, using cold-bloodedness and efficiency to build myself a wall.
But now—
"Otto," I said, "people change."
The other end fell silent for two seconds. Then Otto's voice returned, his tone suddenly strange, carrying something I'd never heard from him before—a kind of calm that comes after making a certain kind of decision.
"Sylvia," he said. "Don't regret this."
Then he hung up.