Lyra Vale knew better than to open the door.
It was nearly midnight, the hour when honest people slept and desperate ones bled out in alleys. The city outside her rented room was unusually quiet—too quiet for a capital still reeling from fire and rumor.
The knock came again.
Not loud. Not pleading.
Careful.
Lyra rose from her chair, every sense sharpening. She slipped the small dagger from beneath the table and crossed the room without a sound. Through the narrow window slit, she glimpsed a shadow slumped against her doorframe—tall, unmoving.
"Infirmaries are east," she called softly. "Try the temples."
No response.
She reached for the latch anyway.
The door creaked open just enough for a body to fall through.
Lyra barely managed to catch him before they both hit the floor.
He was heavier than he looked, all lean muscle and heat. Too much heat. Even through her sleeves, she felt it—unnatural warmth radiating from his skin.
"Gods," she muttered, dragging him fully inside and kicking the door shut with her heel.
She rolled him onto his back.
Blood stained his shirt, dark and tacky. Burn marks spidered across his ribs and shoulder, angry red lines that pulsed faintly, as though alive.
This was not ordinary fire damage.
Lyra swallowed.
She had seen magic wounds before. She had sworn never to treat them again.
"You'd better not die," she told him sharply. "I don't need a corpse tonight."
His lashes fluttered. "You talk too much," he rasped.
She snorted despite herself. "You break into strangers' homes and complain about conversation?"
His lips twitched, then he winced as she pressed two fingers to his neck.
Strong pulse. Too fast.
"Sit up," she ordered.
He tried. Failed.
Lyra sighed and shoved him upright, bracing his weight against the wall. As she stripped away his ruined shirt, her eyes traced the damage with professional focus.
The burns weren't spreading. They weren't festering.
They were contained.
As if the fire had come from inside him.
Her fingers hesitated.
"What happened to you?" she asked.
"Fire," he said faintly.
She glanced at him flatly. "Helpful."
He managed a weak huff of laughter that dissolved into a cough. Blood stained his lips.
Lyra cursed under her breath and moved quickly, grinding herbs, heating water, working by memory. She cleaned the wounds with practiced hands, ignoring the strange pulse beneath his skin.
When her fingers brushed the edge of his ribs, heat flared sharply.
She jerked back.
"What are you?" she whispered.
His eyes opened fully then—dark, alert, too sharp for someone on the edge of death. For a moment, something flickered there. Fear. Anger. Restraint.
"Someone who made a mistake," he said.
She pressed a poultice against his side. He hissed.
"That mistake nearly killed you."
"Not for lack of trying."
Lyra studied him more closely now. He was young—no older than twenty, perhaps—but his face held a weariness that didn't belong to youth. Scars marked his hands, his forearms. Old ones. Training scars.
Not a common thief.
"Name," she said.
A pause.
"Kael."
It felt… incomplete.
Still, she nodded and went back to work.
Outside, a distant horn sounded.
Then another.
Kael stiffened beneath her touch.
Lyra noticed.
"What is it?"
"Nothing," he said too quickly.
She finished bandaging him and stepped back, wiping her hands on a cloth. "You're not dying tonight. Don't make me regret that."
He exhaled slowly, tension easing from his shoulders.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
She turned away before she could soften. Gratitude made people careless.
She poured herself water, then froze as voices rose in the street below.
"…by order of the Crown Council—"
Lyra's blood went cold.
Boots pounded stone. Torches flared.
She moved back to Kael, fingers tightening around her dagger.
"They're searching houses," she murmured. "Did you do something stupid?"
His jaw clenched. He looked at the floor.
"They'll kill you if they find you," she said.
"Yes."
That single word carried far too much certainty.
The knock came again—harder this time.
Lyra didn't hesitate.
She blew out the candle.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Kael's breathing sharpened. Heat rolled off him in waves.
"Stay still," she whispered. "And don't—don't use whatever that is."
"I won't," he promised.
The door rattled.
"Open up!"
Lyra lifted the latch just enough to peer through.
A guard stood outside, armor gleaming, torch held high. Behind him, more figures waited, shadows restless.
"We're looking for a suspect," the guard said. "Dark hair. Injured. Dangerous."
Lyra tilted her head. "This is a healer's room. I don't take criminals."
The guard's eyes flicked past her, scanning the dim interior.
Her heart hammered.
"Mind if we look?" he asked.
"Yes," she said calmly.
Silence stretched.
Then footsteps echoed from down the street. A horn blew again.
The guard cursed softly. "Another house," he snapped to his men. "Move."
Lyra shut the door with shaking hands.
She leaned against it, breath unsteady.
Kael spoke from the darkness. "You should've let them take me."
She rounded on him. "Don't tell me what I should've done."
Their eyes met.
Something tightened between them—sharp, electric, unsettling.
"You're not just injured," she said quietly. "You're hunted."
"Yes."
"And you're hiding something."
"Yes."
Lyra crossed her arms. "Start talking."
Kael hesitated, then shook his head. "Not yet."
She stared at him, anger flaring.
"Then you're leaving," she said.
He rose unsteadily to his feet.
Before he could take a step, pain ripped through him. Fire surged beneath his skin, uncontrolled.
Lyra reacted without thinking.
She grabbed his arm.
Magic answered magic.
A strange resonance hummed through the room, low and powerful. The heat steadied, settling under her touch as though soothed.
They both froze.
"What did you just do?" Kael whispered.
Lyra pulled her hand back as if burned.
"I—" Her voice faltered. "I don't know."
Silence pressed in.
Somewhere deep inside her, something stirred—something she had buried for years.
Kael looked at her differently now. Not with suspicion.
With recognition.
"You're like me," he said softly.
"No," she snapped. "I'm nothing like you."
But her heart betrayed her.
Outside, the city murmured with unrest.
Inside the small room, two dangerous secrets had just collided.
And neither of them would leave unchanged.