Lyra's POV Apartment – Morning
Remote work had a strange rhythm.
The kind that wasn't built for urgency, but for breath. No shoes, no clocked elevator pings, no watching the breakroom clock for when Ms. Hensley vanished to her fifth meeting of the day.
Just quiet. Her screen. Her pulse.
And the slow press of growth under her ribs.
Her belly had begun to shift shape. Subtly. Just enough to remind her when she stood too fast or curled too tight. There were days it scared her. But not like before. Now the fear had space beside it, for something else.
Hope didn't have to be loud.
Sometimes, it just meant the dishes were done. The emails answered. Her tea still warm.
---
Cassian's POV
Executive Office
Cassian typed the last line of code, then pressed his thumb to the reader.
Access granted.
He reviewed the list twice. Trimmed it to essentials. Then added one final name:
Elmont, Lyra.
Her ID synced in silently. No alert. No announcement.
Just a simple change in the system.
And yet, something felt different.
A door opened that no one else could see.
---
Talia's POV-Rooftop Bar
They met over bitter cocktails and seasoned fries.
Talia wore sunglasses, even indoors. Theo didn't ask why.
"You're still brooding," she said, stabbing her olive with a straw.
"You're still pretending you're not worried," he replied.
Talia tilted her head. "I'm not pretending. I'm processing."
"Same thing."
They watched the streetlamps flicker to life three floors down.
Then Theo said, quietly, "What now?"
Talia leaned back in her chair. "Now we wait."
"For what?"
"For them to stop walking the edge."
Theo tapped his glass against hers. "You think they will?"
"I think they already did."
---
Lyra's POV
Apartment – Evening
There was a knock. No text first. No food delivery.
Just a soft, timed knock.
When she opened the door, no one stood there. Just a box. Small. Square. Velvet.
And a note.
> There are some things worth repairing.
—C
Her hands trembled as she opened it.
Inside: the earring.
The left one. Polished, gleaming, the tiny clasp fixed so delicately it looked untouched.
Her grandmother's gift. Her last anchor to before.
She sat down without realizing.
Held the earring to her chest.
And cried. Quiet, folded tears.
No panic. No pressure.
Just the weight of something that didn't have to be lost.
Not anymore.
When the tears slowed, she placed the box on her nightstand.
She wasn't sure what the next weeks would bring.
But for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel alone in the waiting