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LYRA

The cold air hits my face like a slap as I stumble out of the mansion, my breath choppy, my heart pounding so hard it drowns out everything else.

Then the reality outside the house slams into me.

Voices. Shouts. The blinding flashes of cameras.

The Barone mansion is swarmed with professional news crews, amateur journalists, and maybe just people who stopped to grab a torch or pitchfork, spilling off the sidewalk and onto part of 5th Avenue.

The moment they spot me, chaos erupts.

“ LYRA !!” a voice screams as a million camera flashes explode in my face.

“ Do you have any comment about your father’s copycat killer ?”

“ Did you know the victims ?”

“ Do you think your father is still alive ?”

“ Where’s Marcus Chen?!? ”

The last question is shrieked above the rest, sending a shockwave of panic down my spine.

I stagger back, the world spinning as the flashes disorient me, the reporters' voices blending into one horrific, unrelenting assault.

I don’t think. I just break into a sprint across 5th Avenue, headlights blinding me, horns screaming.

A car swerves, missing me by inches, and the driver leans out the window, shouting something I don’t hear.

Footsteps thunder behind me—not just reporters, but cameramen, conspiracy nuts, people screaming my father’s name. I push harder, lungs burning, the frigid air slashing my skin. I dive into Central Park, the trees swallowing me up.

I don’t stop.

I don’t slow.

Tears blur my vision, making me stumble on the uneven ground, catching myself just before I fall.

The voices behind me fade, but I still don’t feel safe.

My phone dings, slicing into my psyche. I gasp, jolting as I skid to a stop near the Glade Arch. My fingers tremble and shake as I pull my phone from my pocket and stare in horror at the screen, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

Unknown

I just saw you on the news, Lyra.

Unknown

You look sad.

Unknown

I hope this doesn’t mean you didn’t get me what I want.

My chest tightens. I force my shaking fingers to type.

Me

I have more time

Me

It hasn’t been 24 hrs yet

Unknown

Does this mean you don’t have what I asked for?

I hesitate. My hands shake harder. I don’t know how to answer.

My phone buzzes harshly again, as if to say “ time's up ”.

Unknown

Now the game changes, Lyra.

My stomach drops as I read the next message.

Unknown

Now I have to hurt the people you care about.