Lyra's POV – Cassian's Penthouse
The elevator opened to silence.
No faint music. No scent of coffee or cologne. No hum of the city muffled behind thick glass. Just… stillness.
She stepped in slowly, almost apologetically. Talia stood behind her, arms crossed tight, like the air itself didn't feel safe anymore.
The living room was clean. Too clean.
No dishes in the sink. No jackets over the back of chairs. The book on the end table, the one she'd left half-read one night, was gone.
Drawers were empty.
The shelf above the coffee machine was bare.
Gone.
She reached for the counter like she could balance herself on it.
Talia hovered a step behind. "Lyra—"
"He left." Her voice barely made it out.
"Maybe just for now," Talia offered.
But the penthouse was too neat. Not like someone stepping away. Like someone had erased themselves.
She turned slowly. Took it in.
The balcony was locked. The bedroom door open and cold. She didn't step inside.
Instead, she leaned against the kitchen island, both hands planted, like the marble might hold her together.
"I don't understand," she said.
"I should've said something. He gave me everything. And I just froze."
"You didn't owe him a speech."
"I owed him the truth."
Talia watched her. "Then say it now."
---
Later – Lyra's Apartment
The silence came with her.
She worked in short, focused bursts. Submitted flawless reports. Answered emails within minutes.
But the spark gone.
She ate her meals. Took her vitamins. Even meditated once with Talia's app. But her hands trembled when the house was too quiet. When the night stretched too long.
Cassian's number sat at the top of her messages.
Still unread.
Still blue.
She typed three messages. Deleted them all.
Then opened her journal instead.
I missed you.
Not in the abstract way people say it. Like nostalgia or inconvenience.
I missed you like air.
I missed your voice in the hallway, your breath when you fell asleep too fast, the way you'd listen without interrupting, like silence was a language we shared.
I didn't think it would feel this sharp.
I was worried. Sick with it.
And then you were gone.
At first I was angry. Then afraid. Then just… tired.
But I've been thinking.
About the night you gave me your number, like it was a lifeline. The noodles. The pizza. The heartbeat we heard.
I think. I think I'm falling in love with you.
Not just who you were in a boardroom. But the man who made space for me. The one who looked at me like I wasn't fragile, just real.
I don't know what you're thinking now. If you think I didn't care.
But I did.
I do.
I'm just late saying it.
---
Talia's POV
Lyra didn't cry much.
She didn't rant.
She just shrank.
Talia watched it happen in slow motion, the way her best friend went from fierce and sarcastic to quiet and soft-edged. A little transparent around the eyes.
So when Lyra padded back into the living room that night, hoodie pulled low, mug in her hand, Talia said nothing. Just scooted over and made room on the couch.
They watched the dumbest reality show she could find.
And when Lyra leaned into her shoulder without a word, Talia didn't push.
"You'll get him back," Talia said quietly.
Lyra didn't answer.
But the way her hand clutched the blanket a little tighter, maybe that was hope.