Chapter 117 Singed Threads
The tunnels quieted after Mara’s orders.
For the first time in days, Lyra wasn’t moving, wasn’t fighting, wasn’t running. She didn’t trust the silence, but she let herself breathe anyway.
Someone had shown her to a small chamber off the main corridor. It wasn’t much—just a cot, a stool, a shelf with a chipped mug and a folded blanket—but it was private, and that felt like a luxury. She sat on the edge of the cot, elbows on her knees, and stared at the stone floor.
Her hands still trembled faintly. It wasn’t fear exactly. More like the echo of too much power burned through her too fast. Her mark had finally dimmed, fading to faint silver, but she could still feel the hum of it under her skin—alive, restless, waiting.
Her brain wouldn’t shut up.
Every time she closed her eyes she saw the relay tower falling in on itself, heard the console screaming corrupted warnings, saw Dax’s face when he realized his “bargain” had gone up in sparks. Every time she opened them, she saw the ceiling and thought about how much rock sat between her and the sky.
A soft knock hit the doorframe.
“Come in,” she said, because if it was the Syndicate, they weren’t going to wait for permission.
Maverick stepped through, ducking a little out of habit. He had a dented ration pack in one hand and a water flask in the other.
“Room service,” he said. “One gourmet meal. One drink. No refunds.”
She managed half a smile. “You spoil me.”
“Don’t get used to it.” He offered the pack and the flask. “Eat. You look like you’re about five minutes away from falling over.”
She took them. “Honest as always.”
“It’s a gift.”
He stayed by the wall at first, back to the stone, watching her like he was giving her space and guarding the door at the same time.
The ration tasted like compressed cardboard and salt. She forced herself to chew anyway. Her stomach didn’t like it, but her body needed the fuel. She chased it with water and tried to ignore the the way her hands still shook.
“You ever think about it?” she asked after a minute.
He raised an eyebrow. “Going to need more than that.”
“What we’d be doing if none of this had happened,” she said. “If the Syndicate hadn’t grabbed me. If you’d told them to go to hell and actually stayed gone.”
He snorted. “I did tell them to go to hell. Repeatedly. They just didn’t listen.”
“Maverick.”
He thought about it for a second, then shrugged. “I’d probably be hiding in some forgotten corner. Running smuggling runs. Pretending I didn’t care who got crushed in the middle.”
“So exactly what you were doing when I met you,” she said.
“Pretty much.” His mouth twitched. “What about you?”
She stared at the floor. “Working in the hospital. Patching up people the Syndicate broke. Going home, pretending the nightmares were just from stress. Telling myself that if I followed the rules hard enough, they’d never come for me.”
“You don’t really believe that,” he said.
“I wanted to,” she replied. “Right up until they threw me in a van.”
He didn’t flinch away from that. “Yeah. They’re good at making sure the rules are rigged.”
“You sound like it’s personal,” she said.
“It is.” He pushed off the wall and came closer, dropping down to a crouch so they were on eye level. “But I’m not interested in reliving the ‘how I became their favorite weapon’ memoir tonight.”
“Fair,” she said. “Maybe I’ll write it for you someday.”
“Please don’t.”
The corner of her mouth lifted. “No promises.”
For a moment, the weight between them eased.
“You did good,” he said quietly.
She snorted. “We barely survived. Dax almost handed them a roadmap, the relay nearly blew up under our feet, and I’m pretty sure my brain’s still sizzling.”
“That’s still ‘did good’ in my book,” he said. “You stopped the transmission. You kept us breathing. You got us here.”
“We also brought a target on our backs,” she said. “Mara’s not wrong about that.”
“Yeah,” he said. “We did. And we’ll deal with it.”
“That simple?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “But saying it out loud helps.”
She shook her head. “You’re terrible at comforting people.”
“I never said I was good at it,” he said. “I said I was here.”
That landed heavier than she expected.
“Does it ever scare you?” she asked, voice low. “That they’re going to keep coming until one of us finally doesn’t get back up?”
“Sure,” he said. “All the time.”
She blinked. “You hide it well.”
He huffed a breath. “I don’t hide it. I just don’t let it drive.”
She let that sit for a moment, then said, “You really think we can win this?”
He didn’t answer right away. He leaned his forearms on his knees, looking past her at nothing in particular.
“I think we can hurt them,” he said. “I think we already did. And I think if enough people like Mara and Kade and Tamsin keep getting back up every time they get knocked down, there’s a chance the Syndicate doesn’t get to write the ending.”
“That’s not an answer,” she said.
“That is an answer,” he replied. “Just not the pretty kind.”
She sighed. “I don’t need pretty.”
“I know,” he said.
He studied her for a second longer. “You need sleep.”
She snorted. “Says the man with permanent ‘hasn’t slept in days’ face.”
“That’s just my face,” he said.
She laughed, soft and tired. “Tragic.”
He smiled, and this time it reached his eyes.
“Lyra,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“You’re shaking,” he said gently. “You ever going to let yourself come down from a high without trying to plan the next disaster?”
“If I stop moving, I have to feel things,” she said. “Not a fan of that right now.”
“Too bad,” he said. “You don’t have to feel them alone.”
The words slid under her guard before she could deflect them.
She looked at him, really looked, at the bruises along his jaw, the faint burn line near his collar, the way his shoulders never fully relaxed even when they were technically safe.
“You keep saying things like that,” she said softly, “and I’m going to start believing you.”
“Good,” he said. “That’s the idea.”
Her mark pulsed once against her skin. She didn’t have to look at it to know.
He reached out, slower than he moved in a fight, and brushed his fingers along the back of her hand. “You don’t have to hold it all together by yourself.”
“If I let go, everything falls,” she said.
“Or,” he said, “it doesn’t. Because I’m holding the other end.”
The air between them shifted. The bond hummed, not loud, but present. Constant.
She swallowed. “Don’t promise me forever,” she said. “Just promise me tomorrow.”
His throat worked. “Tomorrow,” he said. “I can do tomorrow.”
For a heartbeat she thought he was going to kiss her. Her gaze dropped to his mouth without her permission, then snapped back up.
He saw it. His smile turned a little rueful, a little dangerous.
“Sleep,” he murmured, standing. “Before I do something very stupid and very hard to take back in a room with no lock.”
Her cheeks warmed. “You’re assuming I’d stop you.”
“Sparkles,” he said, backing toward the door, “I am hanging on to my self-control by the last singed thread it has. Do not test me.”