Thalia's P.O.V
I pushed the door open, my body aching from the fight, my mind buzzing with everything that had just happened. The air inside the base was thick with the scent of old wood, leather, and the faint metallic tang of weapons stored in the back room. I barely made it two steps before Lyra's voice cut through the silence, sharp and edged with something dangerously close to anger.
"Thalia, what the hell were you thinking?"
I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck, knowing this was coming. "I was thinking that Keith and his pack won't stop unless I stop them first."
Lyra crossed the room in a blur, her expression torn between frustration and worry. "You went in alone. Again. You're going to get yourself killed at this rate. And for what? A lead that might not even pan out?"
I met her eyes, the weight of my exhaustion pressing down on me, but I refused to let it show. "It panned out. I found something."
Her expression flickered, her anger momentarily replaced by concern. "What do you mean?"
I exhaled slowly, pacing the room to keep my thoughts from spiraling. "Keith's pack isn't just running operations out of their usual spots. They've moved. There's a secondary location—one we didn't know about. I overheard two of his men talking. They think they're untouchable there, that no one knows about it."
Lyra folded her arms, her jaw tightening. "And you think that means you should just walk into their den and play hero?"
I stopped pacing, turning to her, my voice dropping lower. "I don't have a choice. Keith is expanding. You know what that means. If we don't act now, we'll be cleaning up the mess after it's too late."
She shook her head, exasperation clear in her posture. "We? Thalia, you don't let anyone help you. You act like this is your war alone. But it's not. You have people who care about you, people who don't want to see you bleeding out on some abandoned street because you think you can take on the world by yourself."
I felt something in my chest tighten, but I pushed past it, focusing on what mattered. "I can't afford to sit back and wait for Keith to make the next move. This location—it's different. It's not just a safe house. They're holding something there. Or someone. The way those guys were talking… there's something bigger happening."
Lyra ran a hand through her hair, frustration radiating off her in waves. "And you're just going to waltz in and see for yourself?"
I hesitated, knowing she wasn't wrong, but I couldn't let this lead slip away. "I'll be careful."
She let out a bitter laugh. "That's a joke. You're never careful, Thalia. You throw yourself into fights like you've got nothing to lose. And maybe that was true before, but not anymore. Not now."
Something in her voice cracked on those last words, and for the first time in a while, guilt gnawed at me. I looked at her, really looked at her—the way her hands clenched into fists, the way her eyes burned with something that wasn't just anger, but fear. And it hit me harder than any fight ever had.
I swallowed, forcing my voice to steady. "I know you're worried. I do. But I can't let this go. I need to see what's there. If Keith's pack is holding someone, if they're planning something worse, we can't afford to wait."
Lyra exhaled, shaking her head like she was trying to fight off the inevitable. "You're impossible," she muttered, then fixed me with a glare that was more desperate than angry. "Promise me you won't do anything reckless."
I didn't answer right away. Because we both knew I couldn't make that promise. Instead, I reached for my gear, tightening the straps of my weapons, preparing myself for whatever came next. "I'll do what I have to," I said finally.
Lyra cursed under her breath. "That's not a promise."
"It's the best I can give you."
She stood there for a long moment, her shoulders tense, before finally shaking her head. "Then I'm coming with you."
I opened my mouth to argue, but she cut me off with a look that brooked no argument. And maybe, for the first time in a long time, I realized I didn't have to do this alone.
I nodded once. "Alright. Let's go."
I let out a breath, watching the cold air curl in the dim moonlight. The forest around me is silent, too silent, as if it's holding its breath. I lean against a tree, pressing my hand against the rough bark, trying to shake off the tension building in my chest Zephyr. His name alone sends a pang through me, a mix of longing and frustration. I know I should be stronger than this. I left. I made my choice. Then why does it feel like the air itself is pressing in on me, suffocating me under the weight of something I can't quite name?
I close my eyes for a moment, but the second I do, I feel it— him. Not physically, not in the real world, but in a way that is more haunting than I can explain. There's a shift in the energy around me, an invisible thread tugging at my consciousness, whispering his name like a forgotten melody. It happens every night now, this lingering presence of him just beyond my reach. And I know, deep down, that he's feeling it too. He might not understand it yet, might brush it off like an annoying itch beneath his skin, but it's there.
Meanwhile, Zephyr is probably tossing and turning in his bed, fists clenched, jaw tight with frustration. I can imagine it so clearly, the way his brows furrow even in sleep, the way his lips part slightly when he's caught in something he doesn't quite understand. He's seeing me in his dreams, I know it. Shadowy figures, flashes of my eyes—nothing clear, nothing tangible, but enough to make his subconscious restless. He'll wake up irritated, gritting his teeth, dragging a hand through his dark, unruly hair as he scowls at nothing. He'll shake it off. He always does.
And yet, the dreams keep coming.
I can almost hear him now, muttering under his breath, annoyed. What the hell was that? His voice would be low, gruff, like he's blaming the universe for playing tricks on him. He'll shove off his blankets, swing his legs over the edge of the bed, and sit there for a moment, staring into the darkness, breathing hard like he just ran a mile. But he won't admit it's me. He won't even let himself think my name fully. Because that would mean something, and Zephyr hates things that mean something.
I dig my nails into my palm, grounding myself in the present. I shouldn't care. I shouldn't be thinking about him. But even now, miles away, I know he's awake, pacing, cursing under his breath, feeling that emptiness clawing at him but refusing to acknowledge it. He'll go to the window, stare out at the city lights, wondering why the night feels so goddamn heavy.
And I'll be here, standing in the darkness of the forest, wondering the same damn thing.
P.s: Lyra is Thalia's friend. Perhaps her only friend.