Chapter 56:
I had learned something dangerous over the years.
Silence speaks.
Kieller's silence—especially.
He had always been sharp with words. Cruel when needed. Controlled even when furious. So when he started choosing pauses instead of arguments, distance instead of dominance, my instincts woke up.
He was hiding something.
Not from the world.
From me.
The realization didn't hurt the way betrayal should have. It settled instead—cold, steady, analytical. Like a chessboard finally revealing a missing piece.
I replayed everything.
The way he avoided my eyes when Aren's name surfaced.The way his hand tightened around his glass whenever "Canada" came up in conversation.The way he said trust me—not as a command, but as a plea.
Kieller never pleaded.
That was when I decided not to confront him.
I decided to investigate.
I didn't tell anyone when I booked the flight.
Canada greeted me with clean air and an unfamiliar calm—too wide, too quiet, like a place secrets could stretch their legs. I arrived early, before the sun had fully committed to the sky.
She lived on the outskirts of the city. A modest house. Pale walls. Warm lights.
My childhood friend Luna.
The girl I once shared notebooks with. Secrets. Dreams that felt embarrassingly small now.
She looked surprised when she saw me.
Then happy.
Then emotional.
"Lyra?" she laughed, pulling me into a hug. "You look… different."
I smiled. "So do you."
And for a while, we were just two girls pretending time had been kinder than it actually was.
We walked the city like tourists in our own memories. Coffee shops. Boutique stores. Streets that smelled of rain and baked bread. She talked about her work, her loneliness, the way nights stretched too long sometimes.
I listened.
I always listened.
At night, we sat on her balcony with wine between us, the city glowing softly below. Laughter came easily then—until I asked the question I had been holding all day.
"Aren," I said casually. "You used to know him, right?"
Her fingers froze around the glass.
Just for a second.
But seconds are enough.
She laughed weakly. "Know him? We were together."
The air shifted.
"How long?" I asked.
"Three years." Her voice cracked. "Three real years."
I said nothing.
"He was… intense," she continued, staring into her drink. "Obsessive in a way that felt like protection at first. He watched everything. Planned everything. I thought it meant he cared."
I felt my spine stiffen.
"And then?" I asked softly.
She swallowed. "Then one day, he just… left. No fight. No explanation. He said he had work. Said he'd call."
She laughed again—this time bitter. "He never did."
My chest felt tight.
"Did you ever speak again?" I asked.
Her eyes glassed over. "Once. Months later. He was drunk."
The word drunk landed wrong.
"What did he say?" I asked.
She wiped her face angrily. "Nothing that made sense. He kept apologizing. Then accusing me. Then—" her voice broke "—then he blamed you."
The world slowed.
"Me?" I whispered.
"He said you were dangerous," she said through tears. "That you ruined things. That you didn't even know it yet."
I stood up.
My hands were shaking, but my voice wasn't. "I think you should rest."
She nodded, exhausted by her own grief.
I didn't sleep that night.
Back in the guest room, I lay staring at the ceiling, the quiet roaring louder than any scream.
Aren had loved her.
Left her without reason.
Blamed me—before I even knew him.
Kieller was hiding something.
Aren was protecting something.
And somewhere between them… was a plan I didn't understand yet.
But I would.
I closed my eyes, one question echoing endlessly in my mind:
Was I the target… or the key?
And why did everyone seem to know—except me?