She hadn't slept.
The red thread was still there, quiet and glowing faintly from her wrist to the stranger's chest. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw it again. Every time she breathed, she felt it—soft, subtle, but undeniably there.
Cassian—though she still didn't know his name—had drifted into a restless sleep. Dr. Thorne had checked on him twice, offered Lyra a cot to rest on, and eventually left them in peace.
It should've been peaceful.
But it wasn't.
She kept thinking about the thread, the world, her old life. The hospital bills. Her brother.
And the comic.
---
Then came the knock.
Firm. Sharp.
Three quick raps at the clinic's outer door.
Dr. Thorne's voice echoed faintly from the hall. "We're closed."
A woman's voice answered. "We were told a young noble girl was seen here. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. We believe she's from the Ishen household."
Lyra's stomach dropped.
She stood slowly, the chair scraping against the floor.
No way.
She pressed a hand to her chest. Her heartbeat thundered.
The door creaked open. She could hear the rustle of boots, the polite urgency of voices outside the infirmary room. And then—
The door opened again.
Dr. Thorne stepped in, his face unreadable.
Behind him stood a woman in a gray traveling cloak, hair pinned up, posture prim and proper. Her eyes were sharp, but red-rimmed like she'd been crying.
Beside her were two armed men in Ishen crest uniforms.
"Lady Lyra," the handmaid breathed, clasping her hands to her chest. "Thank the stars. We've been searching everywhere."
Lyra didn't speak.
Not right away.
Her mind was racing.
'Wait. Wait—I know this.
This scene. It was in the comic.
The part where the real Lyra ran away from home because she didn't want to get married… and then got hit by a carriage.
And she ended up in this infirmary.
This is when they find her again.'
The handmaid stepped forward, tears in her eyes. "We feared the worst when you disappeared. Your mother has fallen ill from the stress. Please—come home. Everything can be sorted."
"I…" Lyra swallowed hard. "I was… I didn't mean to—"
"Lady Lyra," one of the guards interrupted, bowing. "We'll escort you back to the estate. Please, allow us to prepare your carriage."
Carriage.
Her eyes widened faintly at the word.
' That's how it happened. That's how Amy died. The original Lyra was hit by a carriage…
And I took her place.'
Her throat closed.
Dr. Thorne's gaze shifted toward her, as if silently asking if she was ready.
But all she could think was—
'They think I'm her.
Because I look like her. Because I am her now.
But I'm not.'
Cassian stirred in the cot behind her. She glanced over her shoulder—and the thread pulsed faintly.
No one else noticed it.
The handmaid took another step forward. "Lady Lyra, are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," she said quickly.
The words came too fast.
Cassian's eyes blinked open again, just barely. His gaze slid from the handmaid to the guards… and then to Lyra, lingering longer.
Like he knew something was off.
---
Pulled By a Thread
"I just need a moment," Lyra said, her voice tight.
Dr. Thorne gave a curt nod and led the others out.
She turned back to the man on the bed.
He was staring at her.
Not in confusion this time.
In curiosity.
"…What?" she asked, trying to sound casual.
"You lied," he said quietly.
Her breath hitched. "What are you talking about?"
He tilted his head. "That wasn't a noble's response. Not a practiced one."
She clenched her fists. "You don't know me."
"No," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "But I'm starting to."
Her chest tightened.
The thread tugged lightly, humming with something too close to warning.
Don't fall apart now, she told herself. This is just the beginning.