The meeting place is a dimly lit lounge in a high-rise, neutral ground chosen to keep tensions at bay. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the neon-lit skyline, the soft hum of music playing in the background masking the underlying tension in the air.
Edric stands near the window, hands in his pockets, his sharp gaze fixed on the city's reflection rather than the entrance. He knows she will arrive soon.
Lyra…What does she think about all of this, I wonder?
Even if his outward appearance looks so composed, his mind is not as tranquil as his exterior suggests. As they parted last time, her cold formality left an unfamiliar weight in his chest, one he had a hard time discarding.
The quiet sound of boots against marble pulls his attention. He turns just as Lyra steps into the room, her expression is carefully neutral, her posture as disciplined as ever. But he notices the flicker of exhaustion in her eyes, the subtle stiffness in the way she carries herself.
"Edric," she greets, her voice even.
He inclines his head slightly. "Lyra."
For a moment, they simply look at each other—two operatives, two warriors, standing at the precipice of a mission that requires more than just skill.
Then, Lyra exhales softly, breaking the silence. "Madam Cherry sent me to assist you again."
"I got her message last night." Edric answers while recalling his aunt's message.
Does Aunt Cherry really notice something about me and Lyra?
Edric takes a deep breath, trying to shake the thought away. He doesn't have time to dwell on such things right now.
Seeing Lyra calm and composed, Edric allows a small, wry smile. "Glad to work with you again."
He then gestures to the table where a sleek, reinforced case rests. "Lucian's notebook. Our leverage."
Lyra's gaze sharpens as she steps forward. "Are you able to find useful information from it?"
"Yes, very much so. And this is a copy, carefully crafted to look like the original. The original is already back in Eris's hands as promised," Edric states. "It details illegal dealings that could dismantle several operations, some even reaching beyond the mafia. With this, we don't just negotiate—we dictate."
Lyra nods, but her eyes flicker with something unreadable. "Do you think they'll still be after Eris?"
"Unfortunately, yes. But, I have already stationed people to protect Eris, and even Aunt Cherry has her people looking after Eris. Not to mention Eris is now under the protection of the city's elite security," Edric declares thinking that Eris is more formidable than Lyra thinks because the actress has powerful backing.
Lyra hears Edric's explanation and mentally sighs with relief. Then, Lyra focuses on their mission: negotiating with the mafia—a powerful foreign mafia family at that.
She crosses her arms. "Are you sure you want to push them this way? They won't take kindly to a 'negotiation' that comes with an unspoken gun to their head."
Edric's expression remains calm, but his gaze has a certain sharpness.
"It's their bad luck to have caught our attention and messed with the wrong people. Now, they'll have to pay the price. So the plan is hiding our full strength—we let them think they still have control while we back them into a corner."
Lyra studies him for a moment. "Madam Cherry said you should be cautious," she reminds him. "If you push too hard, they'll retaliate. And if we miscalculate, we might not just be dealing with the mafia—we might expose deeper factions working behind them."
Edric tilts his head slightly. "So, you do agree there's more at play here."
A muscle in Lyra's jaw tenses, but she doesn't deny it. "I don't like walking into unknown territory, but Madam Cherry's right. If the mafia was used as a tool, we need to find out who's really pulling the strings."
Edric states, "Glad to know we're on the same page, seeing there's more beneath the surface."
Lyra's eyes flash. "I still prefer fights where I can see my enemy."
His expression softens—just slightly. "We'll make sure we do."
The weight of their mission settles between them, unspoken but understood. This isn't just about justice for Lucian anymore. It is about unraveling something much deeper, much more insidious.
Lyra exhales and adjusts the strap of her jacket. "Then let's go," she declares, meeting his gaze. "We have a storm to walk into."
Edric picks up the case, his grip firm.
"And we'll make sure we walk out with answers."
****
The air in the dimly lit parlor is thick with the scent of cigars and aged whiskey. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden hue over the long mahogany table where Edric and Lyra sit opposite a group of hardened mafia figures. The atmosphere is tense, an unspoken challenge woven into every glance and movement.
Edric sits with the same ease as if he is discussing the weather rather than negotiating with men who would rather see him dead. His fingers drum absently on the surface of the sleek black case resting in front of him—the unspoken weight of Lucian Rourke's notebook pressing into the room like a loaded gun.
Across from him, the mafia representative, a grizzled man named Salvatore Kess, leans back in his seat, puffing out a slow cloud of smoke. His silver-ringed fingers tap against the armrest, an attempt at feigned nonchalance, but the slight tension in his jaw betrays him. His subordinates flank him on either side, quiet but watching.
Lyra, standing at Edric's side, her arms crossed, keeps her posture rigid. She doesn't speak—this is Edric's battlefield, and she understands that sometimes, words can be sharper than blades. Lyra is keenly aware that she isn't fit in this kind of battlefield.
So instead, she observes, waiting for the moment their opponents make the mistake of thinking they have control.
Kess takes another drag of his cigar before speaking. "I have to say, boy, you've got some nerve walking in here with demands." His voice is slow and deliberate. "Word has it you've been digging into things that don't concern you."
Edric gives a faint smile, though it holds no warmth. "Everything concerns me when it affects my interests." He taps the case lightly. "This notebook here… it contains transactions, alliances, and betrayals your people would rather keep buried. I imagine quite a few powerful figures would be willing to pay handsomely to get their hands on it."
One of Kess's subordinates shifts uncomfortably.
Kess narrows his eyes. "Blackmailing a mafia family doesn't end well for most people."
Edric looks Kess in the eyes, the barest flicker of amusement in his cold blue eyes. "Good thing I'm not 'most people.'"
Silence stretches between them.
Lyra watches as Edric slowly leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, exuding a quiet but overwhelming presence. "Let's not waste each other's time. You know I have the upper hand. If you had a way to kill me before I walked in here, you would've done it already." His voice was dangerously even. "Which means you're listening."
A muscle in Kess's cheek twitches, his teeth grinding briefly against his cigar. He exhales sharply. "What do you want?"
Edric doesn't break eye contact. "Full cooperation in our investigation into Lucian Rourke's death. Names, movements, deals—everything. And in return, I might ensure that the more damning pages of this notebook never see the light of day."
The weight of his words presses down on the room. Kess's fingers clenches slightly on the armrest of his chair.
"And," Edric continues, his tone dropping into something even quieter, more menacing, "you will not attempt to retaliate against me or mine. Because if you do, this notebook won't just be a threat—it will be your tombstone."
What does he mean by 'me or mine' exactly? Lyra wonders but keeps quiet and maintains her vigilance.
Lyra sees it then—the moment Kess realizes he is utterly cornered. The older man's jaw tightens, but he isn't a fool. He has to be ruthless to survive, but true survival means knowing when to fold.
Kess lets out a slow breath, rubbing a hand down his face. "Fine," he mutters. "You get your information. But you'd best be careful, Edric. You dig too deep, and you might not like what you find."
Edric's smile barely touches his lips. "That's for me to decide."
He stands, smooth and unhurried, as if the entire meeting has been a mere formality rather than a dangerous game of dominance. Lyra follows his lead, keeping a sharp eye on the mafia members as they step away from the table.
As they walk toward the exit, Kess calls after them, "You'd better pray you're as untouchable as you think you are, boy."
Edric doesn't even turn. "I don't pray," he replies coolly.
And with that, they are gone, leaving behind a room full of wolves who have just been caged.
****
The city's neon lights flicker past as the sleek black hovercar slides onto the deserted highway, its smooth hum barely audible over the quiet tension between Edric and Lyra. The negotiation has gone precisely as planned—perhaps even better—but neither of them is foolish enough to think the mafia will let them walk away without trying something.
Edric leans back against the plush seat, expression unreadable, fingers idly tapping against his knee. Lyra, seated beside him, appears similarly relaxed, her arms folded as she gazes out the tinted window. But beneath that composed exterior, her muscles are coiled, ready.
Then, just as she predicts—movement.
A cluster of figures lurk at the edge of a side street, barely visible under the dim glow of street lamps. Further down the road, a vehicle idles suspiciously with its lights off.
How they underestimate us with their sloppy attempt…
The moment the hover car enters the kill zone, she sees it: the subtle glint of weapons from the rooftops, the telltale flicker of a jammer device activating—attempting to disable their vehicle's systems.
Edric remains unbothered, his gaze still on the passing cityscape, seemingly unaware. But Lyra knows better. He has noticed, of course. He is simply waiting to see how far they will go before he acts.
Too bad for the mafia—they will not get the chance.
Lyra moves before Edric can even part his lips to speak.
With one fluid motion, she unfastens her seatbelt, reaches under the seat, and retrieves a small, sleek device. Her fingers dance across its interface, seamlessly overriding the jammer before it could fully disable their vehicle. Then, as the first set of attackers moves, she strikes.
The door hisses open, and she is gone.
In an instant, she is a shadow among the ambushers. The first gunman barely has time to react before she silences him with a precise strike to his throat, her knife slipping cleanly through his ribs. A soft gasp—then silence.
The second spots her just as she snatches a suppressed firearm from the fallen man's holster. One shot—between the eyes.
Above, rooftop snipers adjust their aim, but Lyra is faster. She throws herself into a roll, vanishing behind a hover-bike. A sharp whistle rings out—a small, coded signal to Edric.
That is when he moved.
Edric, still seated, lets out a quiet sigh before tapping a single command into the car's interface. The vehicle's auto-targeting systems activate, and with the soundless precision of high-grade weaponry, a set of pulse turrets emerges from the car's side panels.
The rooftop snipers never have a chance.
Lyra darts between attackers, her blade flashing under the glow of the city. Each movement is efficient and calculated—too quick for them to react.
One tries to grab her. A mistake.
She twists, leveraging his own strength against him, flipping him over her shoulder and driving her blade into his chest before he can scream.
Gunfire erupts from the far end of the street, but Lyra has already moved, slipping into the shadows. When the last man turns, desperate and wide-eyed, his trembling hands barely holds his weapon steady.
A cold wind brushes against his back.
Before he can turn—darkness.
Lyra exhales slowly, flicking the blood off her knife before slipping it back into its sheath.
The hovercar door slides open again, revealing Edric's composed figure, his gaze sweeping over the bodies littering the ground. He barely lifts a finger when it's already over.
Lyra steps forward, wiping a smudge of blood from her cheek.
"They really thought they had us," she murmurs with a scowl.
Did they really think we were easy prey?
Lyra wonders as she looks at Edric.
Edric lets out a faint chuckle, tilting his head as he observes the carnage. "I was going to tell you to deal with them quietly."
Lyra gives him a sidelong glance. "I did. Was it not quiet enough?"
Edric smiles, his eyes gleaming with something almost amused as he gestured toward the car. "I guess my ears was just to sensitive to hear all the ruckus then. Get in."
Lyra arches her eyebrow but says nothing.
She gets in, slipping back into her seat as the vehicle's doors seal shut. The hum of the engine rises as they speed off, leaving behind nothing but silent bodies and the stench of failure for their would-be ambushers.
Edric glances at Lyra, something unreadable in his expression. "Remind me to let you go first more often."
Lyra simply leans back against the seat, rolling her stiff shoulders. "I'll keep that in mind."
And with that, they disappear into the night.
****
The mission is over, and with it came the quiet inevitability of parting ways.
Lyra stands at the intersection of two dimly lit streets, her silhouette cast in cold neon as she prepares to discreetly go back to Madam Cherry's base. The distant hum of air traffic, the occasional flicker of faulty signage—everything fades into background noise as she adjusts the strap of her weapon and takes a steady breath.
Edric remains a few paces behind her, hands in his coat pockets, watching in silence. It looks like it's just gonna be the typical thing again—efficient teamwork, mutual understanding, and then separation. No lingering words, no unnecessary gestures. It is just how they operate.
Edric knows. He clearly knows, but why does he feel disappointed? Their mission is success, and yet…
But just as Lyra takes a step forward, a voice breaks the silence.
"Young Master."
Edric turns slightly, his sharp gaze flicking towards George, who's looking at him with a suppressed grin. George has seen the reluctance in Edric's stance as his young master stares at the young lady, Lyra, who assisted him today.
George thinks that it's his job to make sure that his young master enjoys his stay in the mainland, even with all the work he has to do. So, George takes the initiative to urge his young master to have fun.
"What?" Edric chillingly asks, his tone so low.
"You should invite her to dinner," George suggests, his voice low but firm. "You've got the perfect excuse—successful negotiations, minimal casualties. If you don't do it now, you won't get another chance."
Edric's jaw tenses. He doesn't respond immediately, his gaze flicking back to Lyra's retreating figure.
This isn't hesitation due to fear—no, Edric Solaire did not fear social interactions. But this is different. Lyra is different.
What's the difference? I'm not sure, but I know it's different…
They only interacted a few times but it's undeniable how he's drawn to her. How she manages to surprise him again and again in unexpected ways and how his mind keeps going back to her…He has never felt this way before.
And the fact that they meet and interact only because of business and coincidence is nothing more than a miracle.
But dinner? Now, that is something else entirely…
Still, his feet move before his thoughts can catch up.
"Lyra."
She stops. Turns slightly, brow raised in mild curiosity.
Edric exhales quietly and closes the remaining distance between them. His movements are smooth, and composed—though the slight clench of his fingers in his coat pocket betrays the flicker of uncertainty beneath his usual calculated demeanor.
"I was going to eat," he explains, voice even but not as detached as usual. "Would you like to join me?"
Lyra studies him, her gaze searching. The city's dim lights catch the sharp angles of her face, making her unreadable in a way that unsettled even him.
A pause. Then—
"Dinner huh? Well, alright. Considering it's late and I have time, I'll join you," Lyra answers thinking that it is late and she doesn't feel like cooking when she just killed people again…
A change of pace to distract me from grim thoughts is welcome. Besides having dinner with the prince combat is quite surreal, but at the same time, it's comforting in a way…
Edric's lips quirks. "Great."
A long beat stretches between them.
Then, to his faint surprise, Lyra let out a quiet exhale that almost—almost—sounded like amusement. She glances away for a moment, as if debating, then meets his gaze again.
"I'm not familiar with the area. So, can I leave it to you to pick where to eat?" Lyra asks as she makes her way to Edric's side.
Edric nods, hiding the satisfaction that flickers in his chest. "Alright."
Without another word, he turns, leading the way.
And this time, when they walk, she walks beside him.
George, seeing the scene, can't help but grin.
****
The restaurant is small, tucked away in one of the quieter districts—a place that doesn't boast luxury but instead exudes warmth. Low-hanging lights cast a golden glow over polished wooden tables, and the scent of grilled meats and spices lingers in the air. Around them, patrons chatter in lively bursts, laughter and murmured conversations blending into a comfortable hum. It is the kind of place that felt lived in, a space where people come to talk, to unwind—to be human for a while.
Edric finds the restaurant's ambiance just right. Seeing the sight of Lyra looking around the restaurant, he smiles.
I have to thank George later, it seems.
Edric muses in his mind, still keeping an eye on Lyra as he reserves them a seat.
The atmosphere is quite nice and far removed from what you can see back in the war zone.
Lyra ponders as they enter the restaurant.
A waiter then attends to them after Edric has made a reservation; he leads them to their seat near the window.
He glances across the table at Lyra, who sits with her arms lightly resting against the table's surface, her expression more open than usual. The flickering electric candle between them highlight the subtle sharpness of her features, but more than that, it softens them—making her look at ease in a way he hasn't seen before.
He has chosen well. Or rather, George has.
"Do you come here often?" Lyra asks as she picks up a piece of warm bread. She then tears it effortlessly before dipping it into the small dish of spiced oil between them.
"No," Edric admits, setting down his glass. "It was recommended."
Lyra raises a brow, chewing thoughtfully. "By?"
He hesitates, debating whether to reveal the truth. But she is already watching him, expectant and perceptive as always.
"George. One of my subordinates."
She grins. "So they're involved in your dining choices, huh?"
He exhales, the closest thing to a laugh she has probably ever heard from him. "They seem to think I needed the push."
Lyra hums in thought, as if considering that. She doesn't press the subject further, instead glancing down at the steaming dish of grilled meat and seasoned rice that have just been set between them. The food is simple but hearty, the kind of meal that fills the stomach and the soul.
I wonder if I can look up the recipe for these dishes. I want to try cooking them once and even let Madam Cherry and the twins try it. Or perhaps we all can just eat here…
Lyra wishfully thinks as she savors the meal. Seeing Edric only an occasional sip of his drink while looking at Lyra, Lyra adds more food to Edric's plate, which earns her a bemused smile from him.
"We came here to eat, oh prince of combat~" Lyra playfully declares as she points at his plate. Her eyes dance with amusement as she leans back, satisfied with her work.
He lets out a short laugh, finally breaking out of whatever trance he's been in. "Right. Sorry. Guess I got a little distracted."
"Hmm, if you say so," Lyra answers with a smile.
For a while, they eat in comfortable silence, only occasionally breaking it with stray comments about the meal or the sheer volume of noise surrounding them. At one point, a group of people in the corner erupts into boisterous laughter, drawing a bemused glance from Lyra.
"It's strange," she states after a moment.
Edric lifts his gaze from his plate. "What is?"
She gestures subtly at the room, at the chatter and warmth that surround them. "This."
He tilts his head slightly, waiting for her to elaborate.
She sighs, rolling her shoulders.
"I'm used to dining alone. But I do have breakfast with Madam Cherry and the twins most of the time. And this place reminds me of the atmosphere from my usual breakfast, boisterous but warm. So it feels odd that I'm having the same vibes now that it's dinner." She takes another bite, chewing slowly. "And quite glad for the company today. Eating with someone always makes the food taste better." Lyra
Edric set down his fork, studying her. There is no trace of sarcasm or guardedness in her tone—only quiet sincerity.
Something in his chest tightens, a foreign warmth curls in his ribs. He schools his expression before any of it can reach his face.
Yet his expression softens unknown to him, and for a moment, he simply watches her, as if seeing her in a new light. Then, with an easy grin, he gestures toward her plate.
"Well, I guess that means I should make sure you don't eat alone too often."
She laughs, and it isn't just polite or fleeting—it is real, reaching her eyes, filling the quiet places in her heart.
"I think I'd like that."
She admits, before taking another bite, feeling, for the first time in a long while, that dinner isn't just a routine—it is something to look forward to.
****
The remnants of their meal have been cleared away, replaced by small, delicate plates of dessert.
Lyra has opted for a peach-strawberry cobbler, its golden crust cradling the glistening, syrupy fruit, a generous scoop of vanilla ice cream melting over it. Edric has chosen something more restrained—a simple dark chocolate mousse dusted with fine shavings of cocoa.
But his focus isn't on his own dessert.
It is on Lyra.
The moment she takes her first bite of the cobbler, her expression softens in unrestrained bliss. Her usual sharp and wary demeanor melts away, her lips curling into a small, genuine smile as the warmth of cinnamon, peach, and strawberry dances on her tongue. The flickering candlelight caught in her eyes makes them gleam with something entirely different from her usual calculating sharpness.
Edric, who has seen Lyra in combat, in negotiations, and in exhaustion, finds himself utterly captivated by this—the sheer openness of her expression.
He seeing her so unguarded.
I hope to be the only one to see such an ethereal sight…
Edric catches himself thinking such thoughts with a bittersweet smile.
She takes another bite, the ice cream mixing into the fruit, and sighs contentedly.
"This is too good," she mutters, her voice lighter than usual.
Edric barely manages a response, busy committing the sight to memory.
She notices. "What is it?" she asks, tilting her head slightly.
He blinks, adjusting his posture. "Nothing. Just… didn't expect you to have such a sweet tooth."
She chuckles, taking another bite. "I don't indulge often. But when I do? I make sure it's worth it."
Lyra enjoys her dessert a bit more, while Edric focuses on his.
Edric thinks that it tastes like nothing compared to the quiet warmth that lingers in his chest.
Eventually, their plates are cleared, and they leave the cozy restaurant, stepping into the cool night air. The streets are lively but not overwhelming, the buzz of distant music and idle chatter creating a peaceful backdrop.
As they reach the point where they'll part ways, Edric is already considering if he should say something—perhaps about doing this again. But before he can, an unexpected presence enters the scene.
A young man—handsome, confidently casual in a way that suggested he knows his own charm—hurries over to Lyra.
Edric slows his steps.
The man, smiling easily, holds out a small slip of paper. "I know this is bold," he says, his tone smooth, "but I couldn't just let you leave without taking my shot. You're captivating."
Lyra arches a brow, amusement flickering across her face.
Edric watches, expression carefully unreadable, but something inside him twists unpleasantly.
Lyra accepts the paper with a smirk, rolling it between her fingers. "Brave," she notes, glancing at the number. Then, with a teasing lilt, she adds, "I'll think about it."
Lyra thinks it is just a prank that the twins set up. Since they do such a thing occasionally, they think that it's a fun way to tease Lyra, who's clueless about romantic encounters.
The man grins. "That's all I ask."
With that, he turns and leaves, and Lyra—still entertained—tucks the paper into her pocket before continuing on her way.
Better ask the twins where they got the man that's as sleezy as can be
Lyra grins while planning how to make the twins confess about this prank of sending men to her.
Edric, standing just a few paces away, has witnessed the entire exchange.
His jaw tightens ever so slightly.
For the first time that evening, the pleasant warmth from their dinner disappears with a sour aftertaste.