Chapter 77 Bounty at Dawn
Dawn bled through the cracks in the boarded windows, a thin gray light that made everything in the safehouse look washed out. The air smelled of old wood and exhaustion. Lyra hadn’t slept—not really. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Vale’s face, heard that smooth voice calling her an imbalance.
Jonah was pacing again, wearing a path between the couch and the table. His communicator—more scrap than tech—kept buzzing with scrambled signals.
Maverick leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, watching the shadows near the door like they might move. He hadn’t said much since the elemental sealed their signal last night. He didn’t have to. The tension in his shoulders said everything.
Finally, Jonah broke the silence.
“They found us.”
Lyra’s head lifted. “Already?”
He turned the cracked screen toward them. “There’s a bounty.” His voice was flat, but his eyes said run now.
A blurred image flickered—her face, half-hidden by shadows, but still recognizable. Underneath, a glowing Syndicate seal pulsed red. Subject 717: Healer. Capture Alive. Reward Negotiable.
Lyra’s stomach dropped. “They put a number on me.”
Maverick’s jaw tightened. “How much?”
“Enough to make every greedy bastard in the city listen,” Jonah said quietly. “And there’s another one.” He hesitated, then flipped the screen again. “You.”
The image of Maverick stared back, sharper, cleaner—an official Syndicate security file. Former Asset: Retrieval Division. Terminated. Capture Alive for Interrogation.
Maverick’s expression didn’t change, but the air around him seemed to get heavier. “Figures.”
Lyra stared between them. “So we’re both wanted.”
“Correction,” Jonah said. “Anyone helping you is wanted too. That includes everyone in this building.”
The elemental from last night appeared in the doorway, her expression grim. “We can mask you for a while, but not forever. They’ll narrow the grid.”
Lyra stood. “We can’t stay here.”
Jonah nodded, already stuffing supplies into a bag. “There’s a safe route through the lower market—less Syndicate patrols before dawn.”
Maverick didn’t move. “They’ll track us no matter what.”
Lyra turned toward him. “Then we don’t make it easy.”
For a second, no one spoke. Then he pushed off the wall. “Fine. We move.”
They left just after sunrise, slipping through side streets that still smelled of rain and smoke. The city above them stirred awake—shutters opening, machinery humming, the faint buzz of drones overhead. It all felt too normal for how hunted they were.
Lyra kept her hood up, her arm pressed close to her side. The mark pulsed faintly, a nervous heartbeat she couldn’t quiet. Jonah led the way, taking alleys that bent and twisted between warehouses. Maverick stayed close, scanning corners, his hand brushing the gun holstered under his jacket every few blocks.
By the time the sun cleared the rooftops, they were in the lower market—a stretch of cracked pavement and makeshift stalls. The smell of fried bread mixed with ozone from busted power lines.
Jonah stopped at the corner of a weathered sign that read Kellan’s Tavern. “We rest here. Eat, regroup, figure out where to disappear next.”
Lyra raised an eyebrow. “You trust a place with a flickering sign and a door that looks like tetanus?”
“It’s better than the open street,” he said. “And the owner owes me.”
“Define ‘owes,’” Maverick said.
Jonah smirked. “Let’s just say I saved him from a bad debt and an even worse marriage.”
Maverick sighed. “Great. Let’s hope he’s still sentimental.”
🔥🔥🔥
Inside, the tavern smelled like smoke and cheap ale. The lights were dim, and the floorboards groaned underfoot. A few patrons sat scattered around the room—miners, shifters, maybe a couple of bounty types pretending not to be. The kind of place that thrived on silence and bad decisions.
Lyra slid into a corner booth while Jonah spoke to the barkeep. Maverick sat across from her, facing the door.
Her mark pulsed faintly under her sleeve, silver glinting for half a second before fading.
“Magic nearby,” she murmured.
Maverick didn’t glance away from the entrance. “You can tell?”
“I can feel it,” she said, rubbing her wrist. “Like static under my skin.”
“Then keep it hidden.”
“I’m trying,” she said, tugging the sleeve down. “It has a mind of its own.”
A group of men near the bar were talking low, voices gritty with smoke and suspicion.
“…heard she glowed,” one said.
“…they’re paying more for the girl alive…”
“…and double if you bring in the guy with her. Ex-Syndicate.”
Lyra’s heart skipped. She kept her gaze on the table, pretending to stir the drink Jonah had set down for her.
“They’re talking about us,” she whispered.
“I know,” Maverick said, voice barely audible. “Don’t react.”
She swallowed. “You’re awfully calm for a man with a bounty on his head.”
“Calm gets you out alive.”
“Panic gets you cardio,” she muttered.
Despite himself, his mouth twitched. “Not the time, Lyra.”
“Fine. No jokes. Just low-level dread.”
Jonah returned, sliding into the seat beside her. “The bartender says Syndicate scouts hit the north block an hour ago. They’re moving fast.”
Lyra looked up. “How fast?”
He didn’t answer—just tilted his head toward the door.
Two men had entered—cleaner than the rest, armed, eyes scanning. One held a holo-slate with a glowing image: her.
“Oh, hell,” she breathed.
“Act natural,” Maverick murmured.
“Define natural.”
“Like you belong here.”
She forced a smile that probably looked deranged. “Great. Nailed it.”
The men split up, one moving toward the bar, the other scanning tables.
Maverick stood slowly, his movements casual but deliberate. “We’re leaving.”
Jonah frowned. “Too soon.”
“They’re not here for drinks,” Maverick said. “Move.”
They slipped through the back hallway, past the kitchen’s rusted door. Lyra’s pulse thundered. Her mark pulsed silver, then gold, like it couldn’t decide what danger meant.
“Why gold?” she whispered.
“Because we’re about to make this complicated,” Maverick said, glancing back.
The rear exit opened into an alley choked with trash and rainwater. Jonah darted forward—but froze.
Three more figures waited at the far end, weapons drawn.
“Guess they were expecting us,” he said.
“Any chance they just want to talk?” Lyra asked.
One raised a weapon. “Surrender the anomaly.”
“Guess not,” she muttered.