"The line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between classes, nor between political parties either — but right through every human heart."
***
"Lyra, listen to me—"
"Purpose," she whispered. The word came out like a prayer. "Give me purpose. My hands don't know what to do anymore. The old commands are ashes. Guide them."
Her breath hitched.
"This body is just a vessel. An empty cup. Use it. Fill it. Command me, Master."
Master.
Not "Young Master Kaelen," the formal address she'd always used. Just Master. Spoken with the reverence of someone who'd found their god walking among mortals.
I need to shut this down. Right now. Before it goes any further. Before she gets hurt. Before I become the kind of person who would exploit this.
The thought formed with perfect moral clarity.
And then the pragmatist in my skull shouted it down.
Lyra had just demonstrated remarkable infiltration skills by scaling my wall and entering my room undetected. She'd shown loyalty that bordered on fanatical. The kind that couldn't be bought or coerced. And most importantly, she was completely off everyone's radar. The invisible servant girl. A ghost that noble families looked through like she was made of glass.
A weapon no one would see coming.
This is insane. I can't seriously be considering this. I can't seriously be thinking about using her devotion. About weaponizing her trauma.
I stood slowly. The chair scraped against the floor. She didn't flinch. Didn't move. Just tracked me with those burning red eyes as I circled her kneeling form.
My shadow fell across her. She shivered. Not from fear, I realized. From something else.
Longing. The desperate need for validation from the source she'd chosen as her sun.
The college student still living in my skull screamed that this was wrong. That this was predatory. She was a traumatized girl whose psyche had been fractured by years of abuse and capped by a near-death experience. And I was about to exploit that trauma for my own survival.
I was about to become exactly the kind of manipulative bastard I'd always despised in the novels I used to read.
The right thing to do was to send her away gently. Get her help. Find her a position somewhere safe where she could heal.
But my hand moved on its own.
Sank into the silk of her hair.
The colder voice in my head whispered: The world doesn't reward the right thing. It rewards the useful thing. The living thing.
And you want to live, don't you?
The texture was soft. Softer than anything I'd touched in this world of rough fabrics and harsh textures. She tilted her head into my touch. A barely audible sigh escaped her lips. A sound of such profound relief that something in my chest twisted.
"A blade announces itself," I murmured. My voice dropped low. "It screams its purpose with every swing. It's a tool for heroes and butchers. A character on the main stage. Loud. Obvious. Impossible to miss."
I gathered a handful of her hair. Felt its weight. The way it moved through my fingers. She trembled beneath my touch but held perfectly still.
"That's not what I need."
What am I doing?
"I don't need a sword. I need a whisper in a library that goes unheard but changes everything. A shadow in a hallway that sees what it shouldn't."
Stop. Stop right now.
"A blade is seen, Lyra. It's known. It's expected." I moved behind her. My fingers trailed from her hair to the nape of her neck. Her pulse thundered beneath my thumb. "You must be invisible."
This is madness. Complete madness. I'm crossing a line I can never uncross.
But the rational protests were growing quieter. Drowned out by the terrifying realization of what she was offering.
Not just loyalty. Not just service.
Complete surrender.
The kind of fanatical dedication that reshapes worlds. The kind that wins wars. The kind that gets people killed without hesitation.
I leaned down. My lips nearly brushed her ear. Close enough to feel the heat from her flushed skin. Close enough to smell the faint scent of kitchen herbs in her hair. Rosemary and thyme. Humble reminders of the servant's life she'd known until this moment.
A life I was about to burn to ash.
"Can you bear that weight?" I asked. "The burden of being my secret? Of knowing truths that would destroy you if spoken aloud? Of living two lives with the knowledge that one slip would mean death for both of us?"
This is the point of no return.
Whatever she says next will change everything.
Forever.
She turned her head slightly. Her cheek brushed against my hand.
"Yes."
One word. No hesitation. No doubt.
Just absolute certainty.
Well. There it is.
I straightened up. Stepped back. Put some distance between us because I needed to think and I couldn't do that with her warmth so close.
The college student in my head was still screaming. Still listing all the reasons this was wrong. Still reminding me of the person I used to be, back when I had the luxury of morality.
But that person had died in his sleep and woken up in a world that wanted to kill him.
This person, the one wearing Kaelen Leone's face, had to survive.
And survival required tools.
You're rationalizing.
I know.
You're making excuses for something terrible.
I know that too.
You're going to hate yourself for this.
Probably.
But you're going to do it anyway.
Yes.