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The rain had a way of masking the city's filth, washing away the blood and lies as though it could make things clean again. But in the darkness, beneath the glow of fractured neon lights, the truth was always there, rotting in the cracks of the pavement. He walked silently through the fog, the shadows bending and curling around him like loyal hounds.
He didn't remember when he'd first noticed her—maybe it had been weeks, maybe months. Time blurred when you spent your days in the void between light and shadow. But Lyra had caught his attention the way few people did.
She wasn't the strongest, nor the fastest, and certainly not the most obedient of the academy's lapdogs. Yet there was something in her, something sharp beneath the surface, like a blade concealed behind a smile. She moved with a quiet confidence, slipping through the cracks of the system while everyone else fell into line.
He'd watched her in training, saw how she excelled at stealth and misdirection. Her instructors praised her quick thinking, but what intrigued him most was how she never seemed to give all of herself to their ideals. She didn't buy into their shiny, saccharine vision of heroism, the kind that hid the ugliness beneath layers of propaganda.
She was like him, in a way. Someone who saw the truth but said nothing.
Tonight, he decided, it was time to see how far she would go.
The girl had stayed late at the academy library, her form silhouetted in the faint glow of its windows as she bent over her books. He waited patiently in the shadows, watching as she finally stepped outside, tugging her hood over her head to shield herself from the rain.
She moved quickly through the streets, her footsteps steady but wary. He could sense her awareness, the way her shoulders tensed just slightly, her head tilting ever so subtly as though listening for something out of place.
Good, he thought. She wasn't stupid.
He followed her from a distance, his footsteps silent as the shadows swallowed every sound. She didn't notice him at first, but as she turned into a narrow alley, he saw the moment her instincts flared. Her stride faltered, just barely, and her hand drifted toward the concealed blade at her side.
A smile tugged at his lips. She was smarter than most of her peers. He could work with that.
"Clever girl," he said, stepping out from the shadows.
She froze, her body tensing like a coiled spring. Slowly, she turned to face him, her sharp eyes scanning him with a mix of fear and defiance. He'd seen that look a thousand times before—on enemies, on victims, on himself in the mirror.
He stepped closer, letting the faint glow of a nearby streetlamp illuminate his face. Her reaction was subtle but telling—the slight widening of her eyes, the way her fingers tightened on the hilt of her blade. She recognized him, as she should.
"Academy student, aren't you?" he asked, his tone calm, almost casual. "One of the best in your year."
Her jaw clenched. "What do you want?"
Direct. No stammering, no pointless denials. He liked that.
"Information," he said simply, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Her brow furrowed, confusion flickering across her face. "Information?"
"Yes." He stepped closer, watching her every move. Her grip on the blade tightened, but she didn't draw it. Smart girl. She knew it would be useless against him. "You're clever, resourceful. You've been watching, listening. I want to know what you know about certain... operations. Hero movements, schedules, weaknesses."
The defiance in her eyes flared brighter. "I'd rather die than betray the academy."
He chuckled softly. There it was—the fire beneath the surface. He let his smile widen, though it held no humor. "Oh, don't be so dramatic," he said, taking another step forward.
The shadows at his feet began to ripple, creeping outward like dark tendrils. Her breath hitched, and he could see the faintest tremor in her stance. She was afraid, but she didn't back down. Not yet.
"I'm not asking you to march into their offices and hand me blueprints," he continued. "Just keep your ears open. Pass along anything useful. Easy enough for someone like you."
"And if I refuse?" she asked, though her voice had lost some of its sharpness.
The smile fell from his face. He let the shadows darken further, their tendrils brushing the tips of her boots. "I wouldn't recommend that," he said quietly.
Her pulse quickened—he could hear it, feel it in the air between them. But she didn't run, didn't collapse into a heap of terror like so many others had before her.
"You're a villain," she said, her voice steady once more. "Why me?"
It was a good question. He'd asked himself the same thing at first. Why her, of all the academy's students? But as he looked at her now, her hood pushed back to reveal rain-slicked hair and sharp, calculating eyes, he knew the answer.
"Because you're different," he said. "You're not like the others. You see things, don't you? The cracks in the system. The flaws in your so-called heroes."
Her lips parted as if to argue, but she hesitated. He could see the conflict in her expression, the doubt she tried so hard to suppress. She knew he wasn't lying.
When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter, almost resigned. "And if I agree, you'll leave me alone?"
"For now," he said, letting the faintest trace of amusement creep back into his tone.
She glared at him, her defiance reigniting. "Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "But I won't let anyone get hurt because of me."
Her naïveté was almost endearing. He chuckled softly, the sound echoing in the narrow alley. "We'll see."
He let the shadows recede, pulling them back into himself as he stepped away. He could feel her eyes on him as he melted into the darkness, her tension lingering in the air long after he was gone.
As he walked away, a strange sensation stirred in his chest. It wasn't satisfaction—he was used to getting what he wanted. No, this was something else, something unfamiliar.
He pushed the thought aside.
Lyra was a means to an end, nothing more.
For now.
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