Lyra broke into a run.
Her breath tore from her chest as she sprinted down the street, her bag thudding painfully against her side.
Behind her, the sound of pursuit sharpened, boots striking pavement in quick succession.
Whoever it was, it was close.
Panic surged as she rounded the corner blindly and slammed straight into something solid.
A startled curse sounded above her.
Strong hands caught her shoulders before she could stumble back.
Lyra looked up and the fear shattered instantly.
"Uncle."
Relief crashed through her so hard her knees nearly gave out. She grabbed the front of his jacket without thinking, breath coming in uneven gasps.
"There you are," he said, his voice low and sharp with something that sounded dangerously close to anger. "What were you thinking taking this route?"
She shook her head, trying to steady herself. "I—I thought someone was following me."
Rogan's gaze flicked past her shoulder, scanning the empty street but there was nothing, no shadow or footsteps.
His jaw tightened.
He pulled her closer without asking, positioning himself between her and the darkness behind them.
"Next time," he said quietly, "you don't take shortcuts, ever."
Lyra nodded with her heart still racing but the fear was ebbing now, replaced by the solid reassurance of his presence.
Whatever she had seen and whoever it had been, they were gone.
But Lyra didn't notice the way Rogan's grip lingered a second longer than necessary and how his eyes stayed fixed on the shadows long after they started walking again.
….
[Rogan's Apartment]
The apartment door closed behind them with a soft click.
Lyra leaned back against it for a second, exhaling shakily as the familiar space settled around her. The lights were dim and the air felt warm and safe.
Rogan moved past her without a word.
She heard the clink of glass and the rush of water from the tap.
When he returned, he pressed a glass into her hands.
"Drink," he said.
She obeyed, swallowing quickly and the cool water quickly grounded her racing pulse. Only then did she notice his expression, tight, controlled and eyes darker than usual.
"I went looking for you," Rogan said.
Lyra froze. "What?"
"You weren't home," he continued. "And your phone was unreachable."
Her stomach dropped. "It died. I—I went for coffee with Maya after work. I didn't think—"
"That's the problem," Rogan snapped.
The sharpness in his voice made her flinch.
He ran a hand through his hair and turned away, pacing once before forcing himself to stop.
When he spoke again, his tone was lower and strained. "You cannot be alone on dark streets, Lyra. Not now, not ever. How many times do I have to tell you to call me if you are late?"
She nodded, fingers tightening around the glass. "I know. I am sorry. I just—today felt normal."
Rogan laughed once, bitter and humorless. "Normal is a luxury we don't have."
She looked at him then, really looked and saw the fear he was trying so hard to bury.
"I am fine," she said softly. "Nothing happened."
His jaw clenched but he didn't argue.
"Go," he said after a moment. "Freshen up and try to rest."
Lyra hesitated, then nodded again. "Goodnight."
She disappeared down the hallway and the bathroom door closed gently behind her.
The apartment fell silent.
Rogan remained where he was, staring at the door long after the sound of running water filled the space.
He closed his eyes.
What he had felt on that street hadn't been random and it hadn't been human.
He had recognized the weight in the air, the deliberate stillness and the way the shadows had watched.
Seraphile was right, the suppression spell was holding but barely.
And something out there had noticed Lyra.
Rogan tightened his fists, dread curling deep in his chest.
He had spent years hiding her from the world she didn't know belonged to her but tonight, he feared the world had finally begun to look back and history was repeating itself.
…..