Inhuman

Inhuman

Lyra did not sleep that night.
She lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling slowly. The room was dark and quiet, but her mind was loud. Too loud. Thoughts kept circling, refusing to stop.
She turned onto her side, pulling the blanket tighter around herself, but it did nothing to calm the storm inside her.
Every time she closed her eyes, memories returned.
The fights.
The blood.
The fear.
The screams.
And the one thing she could never forget.
Damien.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
She loved him. That was the problem.
Loving him had nearly destroyed her. Loving him had dragged her into a world of monsters, death, and pain. Loving him had made her lose the simple life she once had.
She had tried to accept it. Tried to be strong. Tried to pretend she was fine.
But she wasn’t.
Lyra slowly sat up, pressing her palm to her chest. Her heart beat too fast, like it was trying to escape. Her breathing turned shallow.
She whispered, “I can’t do this anymore.”
The room gave no answer.
The next morning, Lyra moved through school like a ghost.
She laughed when she was supposed to. She nodded when people talked. She walked beside Damien, listened to Jack’s jokes, and answered Maya’s quiet questions.
No one noticed the change.
No one saw the heaviness in her eyes.
At lunch, she barely touched her food.
“You okay?” Damien asked softly.
She forced a smile. “Just tired.”
He studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Try to rest more.”
“I will.”
But she knew rest would not fix this.
After school, Lyra told the group she needed to go home early.
Maya looked at her closely. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Lyra said. “I just want to be alone for a bit.”
Damien hesitated. “Want me to walk you?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
He leaned in and kissed her forehead gently. “Text me when you get home.”
“I will.”
Lyra turned and walked away before he could say anything else.
Instead of going home, she took a different path. One that led far from the busy streets and quiet houses. She walked until the buildings disappeared and trees replaced them.
The forest swallowed her whole.
Her steps slowed as she reached a small clearing hidden deep among the trees. In the center stood a broken stone circle, old and cracked, carved with strange markings.
She had found this place weeks ago by accident.
And she had returned many times since.
Lyra stepped into the circle and closed her eyes.
“I know you’re listening,” she whispered.
The air shifted.
A cold wind brushed against her skin, though the forest was still. Shadows stretched across the ground, crawling closer.
Then a voice spoke.
Soft. Low. Calm.
“You came back.”
Lyra swallowed. “I had no choice.”
The shadows gathered, forming a tall shape in front of her. Its features remained unclear, like smoke trying to hold a human form.
“You want freedom,” the voice said. “And peace.”
“Yes.”
“You want the fear to stop.”
“Yes.”
“You want a normal life again.”
Her hands curled into fists. “More than anything.”
“Then you know what must be done.”
Lyra’s chest tightened. “I don’t want to hurt them.”
“You already are hurting,” the voice replied. “They pulled you into their world. They chained you to it.”
“That’s not true,” she whispered, though her voice trembled.
“Isn’t it?” the voice asked calmly. “Before them, you were normal. Safe. Happy.”
Memories rose against her will.
Quiet mornings.
Simple laughter.
School without fear.
She bit her lip hard. “They’re my family.”
“And yet,” the voice said, “your heart is breaking.”
Silence stretched between them.
“What do you want me to do?” Lyra finally asked.
The shadow leaned closer. “Nothing drastic. Not yet. Just small things. Information. Timing. Weak points.”
Lyra’s breathing quickened. “You want me to betray them.”
“I want you to save yourself.”
Her eyes burned.
“I can’t.”
“You already came here,” the voice replied softly. “That means part of you already chose.”
Lyra shook her head, tears sliding down her cheeks. “I don’t want them to die.”
“They won’t,” the voice promised. “Not if you follow instructions.”
Her hands trembled.
“What if I say no?” she whispered.
The shadows pulsed.
“Then the pain continues. And next time, you may not survive it.”
Lyra closed her eyes.
She thought of Damien’s smile. Jack’s jokes. Maya’s quiet strength. Cole’s stubborn loyalty. The way they all protected one another.
Her chest ached.
“I just want peace,” she whispered.
“And I can give it to you.”
Slowly, painfully, Lyra nodded.
That night, she returned home late.
Damien waited for her outside her house, worry clear on his face.
“You didn’t text,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she replied quickly. “My phone died.”
He studied her face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
She nodded. “Just tired.”
He stepped closer and pulled her into a hug. Lyra stiffened for half a second before wrapping her arms around him.
His warmth, his scent, his steady heartbeat nearly broke her.
“I love you,” he murmured.
Her throat tightened. “I love you too.”
The words felt heavy. Dangerous.
Over the next days, Lyra began doing small things.
Nothing obvious.
She listened more.
Asked careful questions.
Remembered every detail.
She noted patrol routes. Training schedules. Maya’s rituals. Cole’s weapons. Rowan’s plans.
She stored everything away inside her mind.
At night, she returned to the forest.
And each time, the shadow praised her.
“You are doing well.”
Each praise made her feel worse.
One evening, the group gathered at Maya’s house to plan their next move.
Maps lay across the table. Notes filled several pages. Tension hung thick in the air.
“If the Doctors are still operating,” Maya said, “they’ll strike soon.”
“We should move first,” Jack replied.
Damien nodded. “Agreed.”
Lyra sat quietly, listening.
She already knew their plan.
And she already knew who would be waiting for them.
Her stomach twisted.
Later that night, alone in her room, Lyra stared at her reflection in the mirror.
“You’re becoming someone else,” she whispered.
Her reflection did not answer.
She slowly picked up her phone and typed a message.
They’re planning to move in two days. Same location. Same time.
She stared at the screen for a long moment.
Then she pressed send.
Her hands dropped to her sides, shaking.
Tears filled her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered into the empty room.
Far away, in the darkness, a soft laugh echoed.
And the trap was set.