"Shud'up before I give you anotha' mark on that face of yours, pretty boy." The threat was thick with a harsh New Jersey accent, gravelly and unrefined.
The dull sting radiated through Cyra's jaw. Metallic-tasting saliva filled his mouth and he spat defiantly onto the floor, his sharp eyes never leaving his captor.
"I'm not handing over the moon gem until you give me what we agreed upon!" Cyra hissed through his clenched teeth. The side of his face throbbed, every pulse was a reminder of how dangerous the person standing in front of him was. His lower lip was swelling slightly.
He rolled his shoulders, feeling the prickling numbness creeping through his fingers, His zip tied hands felt strange and tingly, although he didn't recall hitting anything.
"You ain't gettin' noth'in. Now shud up before I really get angry," the thug sneered, stepping closer. He was short and stocky, his bulk exaggerated by the ill-fitting jacket he wore. Another man, towering and silent, loomed behind him like a shadow.
The shorter one touched the end of a cold, metal bat to Cyra's temple in intimidation. He snatched Cyra's laptop bag from the floor with one hand, rifling through it until he unearthed the moon gem.
The gem's glow was impossible to ignore an unnatural, pulsing red light, like molten lava captured in stone. Even in the dimly lit warehouse, it radiated power, mesmerizing the thug as he held it closer.
While they argued over its authenticity, a subtle movement in the far corner caught Cyra's attention.
From the depths of the shadows, a slight figure slipped into view. His breath caught.
"Clara?... Is that... what are you—" His words were slightly more audible than a whisper, afraid of bringing attention to her presence. His lips parted slightly in disbelief as he caught the gleam of her blonde hair in the low light.
She raised a finger to her lips and silently retreated back into the shadows.
"What the hell is she doing here? What is she plotting?" His thoughts raced.
Cyra had already formulated his own plan but it was ridky and it's success depended on the intelligence of his capturers, or more like, lack-there-of.
Cyra straightened slightly, testing the strength of the ties that were biting into his wrists. Damn, no budge. After a moment of inner debate he decided he didn't have a choice.
"It's real," he called out suddenly, his voice sharp enough to cut through their murmurs. Both men glanced at him, startled by the sudden outburst.
"Then why's it all red an' stuff, huh?" sneered the short thug, holding the glowing stone like it might explode.
"—Moon gems ain't supposed to be red. You think we're dummies or somethin'?"
"And how many moon gems have you seen, good sir?" Cyra countered, his tone deceptively calm. He tilted his head with just enough arrogance to provoke them.
"— If you don't believe me, take it outside under the moonlight. Everyone knows an authentic moon gem glows fluorescently under the moon."
It was a gamble—a lie designed to splinter their trust and buy him time. The men exchanged looks, suspicion flickering between them.
"I'll go. You stay here with Pretty Boy. Don't let him try nothin'," the short one grunted, shoving the gem into his jacket pocket before disappearing out of the truck-loading dock.
The large thug stepped forward, glaring down at Cyra with an expression carved from stone. His massive arms crossed over his chest, and he stood like a sentry, silent but menacing.
Cyra met his gaze briefly but lowered his eyes to his own feet to appear less challenging. He noticed scuff marks on the usually perfect white sneakers. "Ruined," he muttered, his British accent soft, dripping disdain.
"—You've got a trustworthy partner," Cyra said, voice calm but pointed. "Most criminals would have bolted by now, taken the gem and left you here to clean up their mess."
The giant thug didn't respond, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Cyra's thoughts raced. Not as stupid as I thought. But no visible weapons… If I run, Jumbo here will be slow to follow.
His wrists burned where the zip tie dug into them, but his feet were free, Jumbo had forgotten to bind him to the chair. That oversight could be their undoing.
His pulse quickened as he spotted movement again—the flash of Clara's small frame slipping silently toward the exit.
"No, not that way, love! The guy with the bat is out there!" Cyra screamed internally, twisting his wrists to loosen the restraints.
"Hey! Stop that wiggling!" The deep, resonant voice startled Cyra. It was the first time the jumbo thug had spoken, and the weight of his words was matched only by his heavy footsteps as he approached.
Cyra braced for a blow that never came. Instead, the distant wail of a car alarm shattered the tension.
Be-eeep. Be-eeep. Beep-Beep.
Both men froze.
Was Mister Chatty Pants actually stealing the moon gem like I said? That lie was only supposed to be a distraction to get Jumbo outside.
"Oh, there he goes. I told you. Wow, what a shitty partner!" Cyra mocked.
It seemed like Jumbo was thinking the same thing, now that Cyra had planted the seed of doubt.
Jumbo bolted outside, cursing under his breath as be did. Cyra's lips curved into a small, sardonic smile. Cyra was now alone in the dim, dusty room.
From the shadows, Clara emerged again, moving swiftly but quietly, her eyes scanning every corner for danger.
To Cyra, she looked like a vision—a glowing, ethereal angel in the midst of this grime and violence.
"How did you get back in? I saw you leave." His voice was low but incredulous.
"There's a broken window up there in that corner." She motioned vaguely. In the dim light, Cyra caught sight of small cuts on her delicate hands and arms, thin streaks of blood that made his chest ache unexpectedly.
She crouched behind him, working frantically to untie his wrists. The moment her skin brushed his, the air crackled with static. A faint blue glow sparked between their hands, like veins of lightning, flickering in the gloom.
Cyra's head snapped to hers, his dark eyes wide and questioning.
"I'll explain later," Clara murmured quickly, reading the question in his gaze.
"I knew there was a spark between us, Princess," Cyra whispered, his lips curling into a lopsided grin.
"You're an idiot," she shot back, biting hard at the zip tie with her teeth.
Her pouty lips brushed his forearm briefly, and in that moment, Cyra felt a rush of electricity— sparks dancing over their skin like a plasma globe, but also something deeper, something dangerous. Little fireworks lite her view.
With a sharp snap, his hands were free. Cyra wasted no time. He grabbed Clara, pulling her close in a embrace of gratitude. Her heart pounded against his as if trying to break free.
He was so grateful he could kiss her. But there was no time for that, right now they had to escape before Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dumb returned.