Lyra
The days passed in a blur of half-formed plans and silent tension. Tristan and I found ourselves, for the first time since our forced marriage, working on something together, not out of obligation, but necessity. The journal was our only lead—our only thread of truth in a house of lies—and we weren't about to let it slip through our fingers.
The Consuls had built their empire on control, on deception, and now they were taking away my freedom, piece by piece. My mother had tried to stop them. Maybe even my great-grandmother, in her own way, had defied them. But they had made sure no one ever could.
I had a choice: Let this curse define me, or fight to tear it down.
Tristan and I spent hours pouring over the journal, deciphering my mother's notes. Some of it made sense—other parts were coded, cryptic, written in a language that almost seemed like it was meant for someone else to read. For the first time, I wondered if my mother had known she wouldn't survive long enough to finish what she started.
"This is all they're leaving us with," I muttered, flipping through the worn pages. "A trail of breadcrumbs that might not even lead anywhere."
Tristan leaned over my shoulder, eyes scanning the lines with that unnerving focus of his. "You're wrong. This is more than enough. We just need to keep digging."
I didn't reply right away. His words were sharp, decisive, but there was a part of me that couldn't shake the feeling that this was leading us down a dangerous path. A path neither of us would walk back from easily.
"You're sure we can trust this?" I asked, my voice low.
His gaze never wavered from the journal. "You don't trust me, Lyra?"
It was a simple question, but there was something in the way he asked it—like he was testing me, probing for something deeper. I didn't know how to answer. The truth was, I didn't trust anyone. Not the Consuls. Not my own blood. And certainly not Tristan, even if the cold mask he wore was starting to crack.
"I trust you less than I trust the Consuls," I finally admitted, meeting his eyes. "But right now, you're the only one I've got. So yeah, I'm trusting you."
Tristan didn't respond immediately, but I saw the faintest flicker in his eyes—something like approval, maybe? Or maybe it was the quiet understanding that we were both in this mess together.
"We'll find a way to destroy them," he said quietly, as if trying to convince himself as much as me.
I looked down at the journal again. "We need more than this. We need something they don't want us to find."
There was a heavy silence between us, the weight of what we were discussing sinking in. But before I could say anything else, a knock at the door broke the moment. I glanced up, startled, and Tristan's expression shifted immediately, his hand instinctively moving to the dagger he kept tucked in his belt.
"Who the hell is that?" I murmured, already getting to my feet.
"Stay here," Tristan commanded, his tone sharp. "I'll handle it."
Before I could protest, he was already at the door, opening it just a crack. I couldn't hear much of what was being said, but I caught a few words that made my stomach drop.
"Message... from the Consuls... immediate..."
I stood, frozen, my heart pounding in my chest. What now?
Tristan closed the door behind him, his jaw tight. His eyes met mine, but they were harder than before, colder.
"They want us at a meeting tomorrow," he said, his voice low. "It's not a request. And I get the feeling they know something is up."
I felt my stomach twist. The Consuls were not known for making moves without a reason. And their reason, I feared, was us.
"We'll be ready," I said, though I wasn't sure if either of us could be ready for whatever they were planning.