As I draw a deep, steadying breath, the sliding doors creak open, and a figure approaches the balcony ledge, peering down at the crowd. “Nyx?” My voice is barely a whisper, and he turns, his expression one of surprise.
“Lyra,” he responds, his tone soft as he joins me on the couch.
“Isn’t this supposed to be your celebration? Why are you lurking up here in the dark alone?” he asks, and I think I hear a hint of concern in his voice.
I manage a strained chuckle. “Let’s say the evening is unfolding exactly as I feared,” I confess, and his brow creases with worry.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Nyx inquires, sensing my distress.
I shake my head, barely managing to mutter, “No.”
“Maybe this will help,” he suggests, snapping his fingers. Instantly, two small glasses of whiskey materialize. I grasp one and take a hesitant sip, feeling the warmth spread through me. The liquor, I realize, is the only thing keeping my roiling shadows at bay tonight. I guess it’s a good thing the Fae all like to drink a lot.
“What brought you here tonight?” I ask him, trying to sound casual. Nyx drains his glass, hesitating before he answers. “I felt a need to see you,” he admits, his voice laden with an emotion he doesn’t display. My heart achesslightly for the pain I’ve caused him. I catch his gaze, but he quickly looks away.
“There’s something I need to talk to you about,” I say.
He doesn’t look at me, but his interest piques. “Oh? What’s that?”
“I’m aware of the camps, Nyx—the ones in Vision Valley,” I state, carefully observing his reaction. His eyes meet mine, flashing a mix of surprise and wariness.
“You’ve been there?” His voice is hushed.
“Yes, I’ve seen them firsthand,” I admit firmly, holding his gaze.
“Why haven’t you mentioned this earlier?” he probes, his eyes searching mine for an answer.
“What, because we were on speaking terms?” I retort with a hint of sarcasm. “What’s the purpose of all this? Why the massive military buildup? Are you preparing for war with Cloudrum, with Samael?”
Nyx sets his glass down, his demeanor shifting as he considers how much to reveal. “It’s complicated, Lyra,” he begins with a mix of frustration and resignation. “Yes, there are preparations in place. We have to be ready for anything. Samael’s return has destabilized the balance, and with Kaine rallying support against you, things are more precarious than ever.”
He pauses, his eyes intense. “I didn’t tell you because...I didn’t want to drag you further into this mess. You’ve already been through so much because of your powers and the prophecy. Yes, it’s about preparing for what might come, but it’s also about protecting you. Whether you believe me or not.”
“Protect me? By keeping secrets?” I challenge, unable to keep the hurt from my voice. “Or protect me as in...you still care?”
Nyx looks away brieflybefore meeting my eyes again. “Both,” he admits quietly. “I can’t stop caring about you, Lyra, no matter how much I try. But understand, everything I do is to ensure your safety and the realms’ stability.”
“Does Colton know about the camps, about what you’re planning?” I ask.
Nyx shakes his head, his expression hardening. “He doesn’t need to know. The less I deal with him, the better,” he replies coldly.
I reach out tentatively, the urge to mend the rift between us pressing on me. “We should be united in this, the three of us. Together, we make a strong team,” I suggest gently.
He stands abruptly, brushing my hand away. “As long as you’re with him, there’s no us,” he snaps with bitterness.
I close my eyes, exhaling slowly. “Nyx, please. If we face what’s coming together—”
“No, Lyra. I really am sorry. I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t stand by and watch, let alone work with him, not while you’re together... I can’t bear it,” he chokes out, pain evident in his strained voice.
I rise, feeling his anguish echo within me. “Nyx, I’m sorry,” I whisper, though I know it’s of little to comfort him.
“I’m not giving up on us, on what could be our future. I’m close to proving why we belong together,” he asserts, stepping closer. His hand cups my cheek, a tender gesture that feels like a goodbye.
“Nyx, stop. I’ve made my choice. I love him,” I state firmly.
His expression darkens. “We’ll see how far your love carries you when reality strikes,” he retorts, dropping his hand.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, my frustration mounting as I lean against the railing, looking down at the party below.
