Through a Glass Darkly

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The neon lights of the city flickered erratically, casting uneven reflections on the rain-soaked streets. Lyra pulled her hood tighter around her head as the mist thickened, shrouding the towering skyscrapers in a murky haze. The curfew had been in effect for hours, but she hadn't planned on being out this late. She quickened her pace, her boots splashing through shallow puddles, but she couldn't shake the gnawing unease creeping up her spine.

It wasn't the darkness that unnerved her—she'd grown used to the long shadows of the city and the faint hum of distant sirens. It was something else, an invisible thread pulling taut with every step she took. She was being watched.

Don't panic, she told herself, forcing her breathing to remain even. Her hand drifted toward the blade tucked under her jacket, the cool metal reassuring against her palm. She scanned the alley ahead, her sharp eyes catching the faintest movements in the gloom.

"Clever girl," came a voice from behind her, low and smooth, yet as cold as the night air.

Lyra froze. Her heart skipped a beat, her pulse racing as she turned slowly. The alley, dimly lit by a flickering streetlamp, was empty—or so it seemed. Then, from the deepest shadows, a figure emerged.

He was tall, his silhouette sharp and commanding against the faint light. His dark, tattered clothing seemed to ripple, as if alive. A mask covered the lower half of his face, but his eyes—glowing faintly with an unnatural crimson hue—left no room for doubt.

Her breath caught. She knew who he was. Everyone in the academy had heard the stories, the warnings whispered between classes. The Shadow Wraith. A villain whose name alone was enough to silence a room.

"Academy student, aren't you?" he asked, his voice almost casual, though the undertone of menace was unmistakable. "One of the best in your year."

Her jaw clenched, but she refused to let him see her fear. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice steady despite the tight knot in her chest.

He tilted his head slightly, his glowing eyes narrowing. "Information."

"Information?" she repeated, her hand tightening on her blade.

"Yes," he said, stepping closer. The streetlamp flickered again, casting his face in brief, sharp relief. His smile was faint, more a suggestion of amusement than a true expression. "You're clever, resourceful. You've been watching, listening. I want to know what you know about certain... operations. Hero movements, schedules, weaknesses."

Her heart sank. "I'd rather die than betray the academy," she snapped, the words spilling out before she could stop herself.

His smile widened, though it held no warmth. "Oh, don't be so dramatic." He took another step, and the air around him seemed to shift, growing colder. The shadows at his feet began to move, curling like smoke, inching toward her boots. "I'm not asking you to hand over your soul, girl. Just your ears. Keep them open. Pass along anything useful. Easy enough for someone like you."

Lyra's mind raced. The academy had trained her for dangerous situations, but this was different. The man standing before her wasn't some petty criminal or overconfident rival. He was him, and every instinct screamed at her that running would be futile.

"What happens if I refuse?" she asked, her voice quieter now.

The shadows darkened further, spreading outward like a web, tendrils snaking toward her. She fought the urge to step back. "Then you'll see why they call me the Shadow Wraith," he said simply, his tone almost bored, though his glowing eyes bore into her with chilling intensity.

She swallowed hard, her fingers gripping the hilt of her blade so tightly her knuckles turned white. Think, Lyra. Don't let him corner you.

"You're a villain," she said, her voice sharper now, edged with anger she didn't entirely feel. "Why me? You could've chosen anyone."

He stopped advancing, his head tilting again, studying her as though she were an intriguing puzzle. "Because you're different," he said after a moment. "You're not like the others. You see things, don't you? The cracks in the system. The flaws in your so-called heroes."

She opened her mouth to protest, but the words caught in her throat. He wasn't entirely wrong. She had seen things—teachers turning a blind eye to injustice, classmates more interested in fame than saving lives. It had always left a sour taste in her mouth, though she'd never dared voice her thoughts aloud.

Her hesitation must have been answer enough. The Shadow Wraith's faint smile returned. "You're useful to me, Lyra," he said. "And don't pretend you don't know it."

Her stomach churned. The idea of betraying the academy—the place her parents had sent her to mold her into someone better—was unthinkable. Yet, staring into the eyes of the city's most feared villain, she realized she didn't have much of a choice.

"And if I agree," she said slowly, "you'll leave me alone?"

"For now," he replied, his tone light, almost mocking.

She hated him in that moment—hated his calm, his confidence, the way he seemed to know exactly how far he could push her. But more than that, she hated the sinking feeling in her gut that told her she was about to do something she couldn't take back.

"Fine," she said finally, the word tasting bitter on her tongue. "But I won't let anyone get hurt because of me."

He chuckled softly, the sound low and dry. "We'll see."

Without another word, he stepped back into the shadows, his form dissolving into the darkness as if he'd never been there at all. The oppressive weight of his presence lifted, but Lyra's legs felt weak beneath her. She leaned against the wall, sucking in a shaky breath as she tried to process what had just happened.

Her fingers loosened their grip on her blade, the sharp ache in her hand grounding her. She wanted to believe she could fix this, that she could find a way out of the mess she'd been thrust into. But deep down, she knew the truth.

She'd made a deal with the devil, and there was no turning back.

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