The forest twisted into unfamiliar shapes as Jack followed Lyra deeper between the trees. Whatever she called her *den* was far from any path a normal traveler would ever choose. Roots coiled like sleeping serpents across the ground, and branches arched overhead in unnatural angles, blotting out most of the moonlight. The deeper they walked, the colder the air became—cold enough that Jack's breath fogged in faint wisps.
Lyra moved soundlessly ahead, a dark silhouette gliding through the brush. She didn't look back, but Jack knew she sensed every movement he made. His breathing. His heartbeat. The tremor in his steps. The bond between them hummed faintly, a low thrumming pulse inside his chest that tugged every time he drifted too far behind.
The feeling was unnerving. Like something inside him refused to be apart from her.
He hated it.
And—if he was honest—he feared it more.
"Lyra," he said finally, breaking the silence. "How much farther?"
"Close," she replied without turning.
Her voice echoed strangely between the trees, distant yet sharp. Jack rubbed at the throbbing marks on his neck, wincing as pain flared again. The change wasn't done; the heat still simmered low under his skin, ebbing and flowing in waves. His senses were wrong—sharper in some ways, unfocused in others. The forest was too loud. The scents too rich. His heartbeat too heavy.
Lyra must have sensed the shift in him, because she slowed until he walked beside her.
"How does it feel?" she asked quietly.
Jack scoffed. "Like someone poured fire into my veins."
"That's normal." Her tone was oddly gentle. "Your body is learning to hold the bond."
"And if it can't?" Jack muttered.
Lyra stopped walking. She turned to face him, silver eyes glowing softly in the dark.
"Then you'll die."
Jack stared at her.
She blinked once, slow, deliberate. "I won't let that happen. But you deserve the truth."
He swallowed hard.
Then she began walking again.
Eventually, the forest opened into a clearing Jack hadn't realized existed—shadowed and silent, ringed by trees so tall they swallowed the sky. The ground sloped downward into a hollow, concealed by dense ferns. Lyra led him to it, crouching to move aside a curtain of hanging moss.
A cave waited beneath.
Not large—just deep enough for shadow to swallow all light. Jack's instincts screamed at him, but Lyra stepped inside without hesitation, her bare feet silent on stone.
Jack followed.
The interior was cool and dry, lit by faint bioluminescent moss clinging to the walls. The glow wasn't bright, but it gave the cave an eerie green-blue sheen. It reminded Jack of moonlight reflecting through water.
Lyra motioned for him to sit on a smooth stone shelf near the back. He lowered himself carefully, leaning against the wall as another wave of heat pulsed through him.
Lyra watched him closely.
"Your heart is struggling," she said. "It doesn't know how to beat for two lives yet."
Jack frowned. "Two lives?"
She hesitated. "My life—and yours."
He stared, unsure if he should be insulted or terrified. "You talk like you own me."
"I don't want to," she replied quietly. "But the bond doesn't care what either of us wants. It follows blood, not choice."
Jack exhaled shakily. "Can we break it?"
Lyra froze.
Her eyes sharpened, brittle. "You ask that so easily."
Jack stiffened, sensing a shift. "I didn't mean—"
"Yes, you did." She stepped closer, shadows curling around her form. "You want your humanity back. You want to walk away from me."
Jack opened his mouth, then shut it.
Lyra stopped a single step from him.
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you regret it? Saving me?"
Jack's heartbeat stuttered. "No."
She flinched. Just slightly. Enough that he noticed.
Her gaze softened around the edges. "Then don't speak of breaking something that hasn't even settled yet."
Jack swallowed hard. "Lyra… I'm scared."
She stared at him for a long moment, then finally nodded. "Good. So am I."
The admission stunned him.
Before he could respond, she knelt in front of him, examining his face. Her cold fingertips brushed his jaw, tilting his head gently as she checked the bite marks on his neck.
The touch was cautious. Almost reverent.
"Your fever is rising," she murmured. "It will get worse before it gets better."
The heat inside Jack surged, as if responding to her voice. He closed his eyes, jaw clenching as sensation rolled through him—hot, sharp, electric.
Lyra's hand hovered uncertainly near his chest. "Jack. Listen to me."
He nodded tightly, vision blurring.
"If you feel like your heart is breaking apart… don't fight it. Your body is merging part of me into you. If you resist, you'll only make it worse."
"Easy for you to say," Jack hissed through his teeth. "You're not the one being… rewritten."
Lyra's voice softened. "I've turned others. I know the pain."
Jack's eyes flew open. "You've turned—?"
Her expression shut down instantly. "It doesn't matter."
"Did they survive?" he pressed.
Lyra's silence answered for her.
Jack felt cold crawl up his spine. "So I might die."
Lyra leaned closer, her face inches from his. "No. *You won't.* I won't lose you."
Jack blinked. Once. Twice.
The words hit him harder than the pain.
Before he could ask what she meant, agony slammed into him like a blade. His back arched violently, breath tearing from his lungs. The cave walls distorted into spirals of dim color.
Lyra's arms wrapped around him, holding him upright as his body convulsed.
"Breathe," she commanded, voice firm. "Stay with me. Jack!"
He gripped her shoulders, knuckles white. His vision flickered—darkness, then green moss, then silver eyes staring in panic.
"It's too much—" he gasped.
Lyra pressed her forehead to his, her voice trembling. "I know. I know. But if you let go now, your heart will stop."
Jack's nails dug into her arms.
"Lyra—!"
"Look at me!" she snapped.
He forced his eyes open.
She looked terrified. Truly terrified. Not for herself.
For him.
"Your life is tied to mine now," she whispered. "If you die, I die too."
Jack's breath caught. "Then why—why save me—?"
"Because I didn't want you dead!" she shouted, sudden emotion ricocheting off the cave walls.
Silence followed.
Jack stared at her through the haze of pain.
Lyra's voice dropped to a broken whisper. "Because… I didn't want to lose the way you looked at me. Like I was more than a monster."
Something inside Jack twisted—not just pain, but something deeper, something binding.
The heat in his body surged again.
Lyra pulled him against her, nails digging into his back as she whispered into his hair, "Stay with me, Jack. Just a little longer. Please."
Jack clung to her, breathing ragged. "I'm trying."
The fire tore through him, but he held on.
To her voice.
To her grip.
To the bond pulsing wildly in his chest.
Minutes—or hours—passed before the pain finally loosened, receding like a dying storm. Jack slumped against her, drenched in sweat, heart hammering but stable.
Lyra exhaled shakily, brushing a trembling hand through his hair. "It's done. The worst of it."
Jack rested his forehead against her shoulder, panting. "What now?"
Lyra hesitated.
Then she spoke softly, as though afraid of her own words.
"Now… you belong to my world."
Jack lifted his head slowly.
"And you," she added, voice barely above a whisper, "belong to me."
Jack swallowed.
"Do you?" he rasped. "Belong to me?"
Lyra froze.
Something flickered across her face. Fear. Hope. Denial.
She leaned in—close enough that Jack could feel her breath brush his lips.
Then she whispered,
"…I don't know."