[Greenwich Town—Rogan's Hale's Apartment]
Lyra knew something was wrong the moment she stepped into the apartment.
The air felt tight like it had been holding its breath.
Rogan stood near the kitchen counter with his arms crossed and his posture rigid as his gaze locked onto her the second the door clicked shut behind her.
Rogan had always stood like that, still and watchful, as if the room answered to him even when he wasn't trying.
He was her mother's older brother, the man who had raised her since she was a child after she lost her father in an accident and her mother during childbirth.
But unlike Lyra, he was a shifted werewolf who never spoke of the pack he was born into, only the small one he had joined years later, after Lyra came into his life.
When Rogan saw Lyra, he didn't move, he didn't speak. He just watched her with his eyes sharp in a way that made her spine stiffen.
"You are late," he said.
"I told you I might be," Lyra replied, slipping off her shoes. Her voice sounded steadier than she felt.
"You said you were dropping off a résumé."
"I did."
Rogan's eyes narrowed, the crease between his brows deepening. "Where?"
She hesitated just a fraction of a second but it was enough.
Rogan noticed.
"Lyra," he said quietly now and that was worse. "Where did you go?"
Her fingers curled tighter around the strap of her purse. "Downtown."
"That's not an answer."
"I am tired," she said, heat creeping into her voice. "Can we not do this right now?"
Rogan took a step closer. It was not aggressive but careful as if he was approaching something fragile and dangerous.
"You smell different," he said.
The words landed heavier than they should have and her stomach twisted.
"What does that even mean?" she asked but there was a slight tremor in her voice.
"It means something's off," Rogan replied and his jaw tightened. "Something heavy."
Lyra turned away, shaking her head. "You are imagining things."
"I am not," He took another step towards her. "You smell like—
Before he could say anything else, her phone buzzed in her hand.
The sound cut through the tension like a blade.
Lyra glanced down.
Unknown Number
Her heart skipped.
She hesitated for a while before answering. "Hello?"
"Lyra Hale?" a professional voice said. "This is Human Resources from Blackthorn Enterprises."
Rogan froze and Lyra felt it beside her, the way his entire body went still.
"Yes," she said carefully.
"We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected for the position."
Her breath caught. "Already?"
"Yes. We would like you to start tomorrow."
Tomorrow.
The word echoed in her chest.
"That is fast," Lyra managed.
"There has been a sudden staffing change," the woman continued smoothly. "We will email you the details shortly. Congratulations, Miss Hale."
Then the line went dead and silence rushed in to fill the space.
Lyra lowered her phone slowly and her gaze didn't leave the ground.
Rogan stared at her like she had just confirmed his worst fear.
"You went there," he said.
"It was just an interview," she replied quickly. "I didn't think it would turn into anything."
His jaw tightened. "You shouldn't have gone."
"That's easy for you to say."
"Lyra—"
"I needed this," she interrupted, the words spilling out sharper than she intended. "I need a job that actually pays. I am tired of scraping by and I am tired of feeling like I don't belong anywhere."
"That place isn't safe."
"You keep saying that," she snapped. "But you never tell me why."
Rogan opened his mouth then closed it, just like he did every time.
But something in his expression faltered, just slightly.
"I just need you to trust me," he said.
Lyra let out a soft, bitter laugh. "That's all you ever say, uncle Rogan."
She met his gaze, her eyes burning. "I am taking the job."
Rogan's eyes darkened. "You don't know what you are walking into. It is not safe."
"No," she said quietly. "But I know I can't keep living like this."
She turned toward her room, her hands trembling now that she wasn't forcing them still.
Behind her, Rogan didn't move, he stood frozen with dread curling tight in his chest.
Because whatever had brushed against Lyra today, whatever she had unknowingly stepped too close to had left a mark he could feel deep in his bones.
And for the first time in years, Rogan feared he was already too late.
….