The Isolation Block was silent, lit only by a single, caged bulb near the ceiling. It was cold, sterile, and oppressively secure. Ryker sat on a metal stool opposite the cot, watching Lyra. He hadn't slept, couldn't risk it.
The hours passed slowly. The effects of the sedative began to wear off, replaced by the deep, residual pain of the interrogation and the internal pressure of the magical containment field. She slowly began to move in her light dress that Rowland had dressed her in.
Around mid-morning, Lyra stirred.
Her eyelids fluttered, then opened slowly. Her eyes, a striking, deep blue color, were unfocused and bewildered. She tried to move, but the metallic coolness of the simple restraints—applied loosely to her wrists and ankles—stopped her.
Lyra blinked several times, her gaze sweeping the stark stone walls, the bars on the single window, and the reinforced steel door. Her face, still swollen and bruised from Thax's blow, twisted in a mixture of fear and confusion.
Her eyes finally settled on Ryker.
He was in his uniform, stern and imposing, sitting quietly and watching her with an unnerving intensity. He was unfamiliar, yet his face held the residual memory of the one who had stopped the General's torture.
"Where... where am?" Her voice was a cracked whisper, unused and weak.
Ryker spoke calmly, keeping his tone measured and professional, yet devoid of any military harshness.
"You are in a secure medical annex, outside the Citadel. You are safe now. I am Commander Thorne."
Lyra tested the restraints again, a flash of panic crossing her face.
"Why? Why I tied up? Me didn't... didn't do anything."
"The restraints are for your safety, and to help you heal," Ryker explained, knowing the lie was necessary. He couldn't explain the Lycan blood or the seal.
"You were badly injured. You need rest. I brought you here so you wouldn't be disturbed."
She looked down at her hands, then back up at him. She felt strange, especially after inspecting her hands.
"Do you remember anything before I arrived?" Ryker gently questioned.
She was hesitant at first,then her brain clicked
"Man... the man in scary,red room... he shouts. He hit me. He wanted to know things." Her voice cracked but she didn't stop."I say to man...me don't know anything. Me not understand. Me no see no bariar. Me ....not remember."
Her amnesia, now active, was a defense and a vulnerability. Ryker knew she wasn't lying; the seal was doing its job. She hadn't mentioned her transformation yet.
"I know you can't remember," Ryker said gently. "That man will not come here. No one will hurt you here. You can trust that."
Lyra's small forehead furrowed with the effort of trying to grasp her circumstances. "But... if me not remember, what you do with me? Who is me? Why help I?"
She tried to push herself up, the movement revealing the jagged, new claw scar across her cheek—a fresh, horrifying reminder of her true nature that Ryker had to ignore. He finally decided to uncuff her. To ease her distress and try to comfort her.
"You are Lyra," Ryker supplied, using the only name they had. Which wasn't confirmed yet either."That is what the records listed." He lied.
"No," she said, shaking her head weakly. That's what he'd called her before too.
"No, that's a sound. I not feel like Lyra." She paused, instinctively pushing her fingers through her hair and holding it tightly.
"I not feel like anyone. It's empty. " She whispered,her voice trembling terribly.
"Where mother? My home?" She looked around the cold, empty room, her panic rising.
"I not know how I get here. Did me run away? Did I hurt someone?"
Ryker realized the danger of her fear. Panic could trigger another shift, especially with the seal fighting her psyche. He needed to stabilize her, physically and emotionally.
"Stop," Ryker ordered, his voice suddenly firm, commanding her attention without being harsh. He held her by the shoulders, internally willing her to calm down.
"You are not alone. You have not hurt anyone here. You were found near a border incident. That is all you need to know for now. Your job is to rest and let your body and mind heal."
He stood up and walked to the small table where a clean bowl of broth and water rested. He brought them to her cot.
"I can't tell you who you were, Lyra," Ryker admitted, meeting her blue eyes. He had never seen such a deep shade of blue as an eye colour.
"But I can promise you this: from now on, I will be the one who decides what happens next. And for now, what happens next is you eat this."
He sat beside her and, with careful precision. He didn't allow her to argue further. He was no nurse, he was a Commander, but the simple, domestic act felt monumental under the weight of their massive secret. He needed her to be calm and stable, for both their sakes.