Nyra's POV
The first hit didn't scare me.
Pain was familiar. Expected. Part of the life I'd been born into.
The second hit worried me.
Not because of the pain—but because of how far I was from him when it landed.
Kian.
I tasted blood in my mouth as my head snapped to the side. The metal floor was cold against my cheek. Rough hands yanked my wrists tighter behind my back, the cable cutting into my skin.
"Still awake?" a voice drawled above me. "You're tougher than you look, girl."
I spat red onto his boot.
"Try harder," I said.
He sighed like I was the one being difficult. "You know, it would be a lot easier if you just told us what you are."
Alien. Soldier. Bodyguard. Weapon. Girl. Fool.
"Hungry," I said. "You got anything to eat, or do you just serve up terrible conversation in this place?"
The room around us was small, metal, and ugly. No windows. Just one reinforced door, one flickering overhead light, and one camera in the corner. It hummed softly, blinking red, transmitting everything to someone somewhere else.
"Dr. Havel won't like you damaging the merchandise," another voice said from near the wall.
"Relax," my main captor muttered. "She can take it. Look at her." Fingers gripped my jaw, forcing me to look up. "No normal schoolgirl fights like that. You broke Kade's arm."
"He touched what's mine," I said coolly. "I broke the wrong thing."
His eyes narrowed. "What's yours?"
I smiled, slow and sharp. "My mission."
Not my prince. Never say that. Never say Kian.
The man's hand tightened. "We saw the way you moved," he said. "You're not like the boy. You're controlled. Trained. You knew what he was before he did, didn't you?"
I said nothing.
The first rule they carved into us was simple:
If captured, you are already dead. Your life is second to the Vessel's secrecy.
He backhanded me, more out of frustration than technique. My head rang. The cable around my wrists bit deeper. I let my body sag to the floor, forcing my muscles to go limp.
Play weak. Think sharp.
A drip of blood hit the floor beside my cheek. I watched it spread into the tiny scratches in the metal.
"Kian," I thought.
On our world, sometimes the Vessel could feel his guardian's distress, even across great distances. It was never reliable. It was never predictable.
But as my vision blurred for a second, I could almost feel him.
A sudden spike of fear.
A flare of pain.
Then—bright, white-blue rage.
Astra, stirring.
Good.
"Sir," the second man said nervously. "The monitors—look at this."
My captor let go of my face and turned toward the door. I twisted just enough to see the screen mounted near the exit. Grainy black-and-white images flickered: the outside of a school, a van, two men—
—and a boy surrounded by a wash of light.
My breath caught.
Even through the poor quality feed, I recognized him. Staggering. Glowing. The air around him bending as if reality itself had become too soft.
Kian.
Astra pulsed in him like a second heart, shoving back the world.
Metal crumpled near him as if an invisible hand squeezed it. Glass exploded outward and then hung in the air, frozen, before dropping all at once.
"What the—?" the second man whispered.
"Is that… him?" my captor breathed. "The boy?"
My chest ached with something that wasn't just pain.
Pride.
Terror.
He's waking up, I thought. And I'm not there.
The screen cut out suddenly, crackling into static.
"Transmission lost," an emotionless voice announced overhead.
My captor cursed. "Great. Just great. Boss is not going to like this."
Good, I thought savagely. I hope she hates it.
He stalked toward the door and slammed his fist against it twice.
"I'm going to check in," he told the other guard. "You stay with her. Don't get close unless you have to. If she tries anything, sedate her."
"Got it."
The door hissed open, then clanged shut behind him, sealing me in with the second man and the hum of the camera.
Silence settled.
He watched me warily from near the wall, tranquilizer gun held loosely in one hand.
I let my head hang, eyes half-closed. My cheek throbbed. My wrists burned. My shoulders ached. Minor things. Flesh pains. Nothing was broken that couldn't be fixed.
I had endured worse to earn my guard sigils.
I shifted slightly, testing the restraints. The cable tightened, digging deeper. Not ordinary rope. Fibers woven with energy-disrupting threads. Not enough to fully cancel my body's enhancements, but enough to make breaking free without tools difficult.
"Astra-binders," I said. "Fancy."
The guard jumped. "What?"
"Nothing."
I catalogued the room again.
One door. No windows. One vent too small for me to fit through. One camera. One guard. One gun.
"Where is he?" I asked quietly.
"Who?" the guard said, too fast.
"The boy," I replied. "You talked about 'merchandise' in plural. Where are you keeping him?"
He snorted. "Like I'd tell you."
"That van outside the school was for both of us," I said. "But he didn't arrive with me. That means something went wrong."
I looked up, letting him see the faint smile tug at my split lip.
"He hurt you, didn't he?"
The guard's mouth tightened.
"Shut up," he snapped.
So. Kian had already touched them with unfinished Astra. Good.
I needed him to get stronger. Faster. Dangerous.
I just didn't need him to die doing it.
My chest felt heavier with every minute.
I'd been trained for this scenario. Captured to draw the Vessel out. Used as bait.
The instructors had drilled the logical conclusion into us for years:
If your capture endangers the prince, you must remove yourself from play.
In other words: die before you can be used.
I flexed my fingers behind my back, feeling the cool ridges of the hidden blade in my sleeve. They'd missed it in the search. Sloppy.
Good for me.
Bad for them.
But if I used it now—to take the guard, to try to escape—I would trigger alarms. They'd tighten security. They'd rush plans.
And somewhere, Kian was already walking into danger because of me.
Because he would.
He was that kind of person.
He'd proven it a hundred times in small ways—standing up for kids with less power than him, sharing his notes with classmates who didn't deserve his patience, talking to me like I was just a girl, not a weapon.
And yesterday, in the hallway, when I stepped in front of him—
He had reached for me.
Without thinking.
Like he couldn't stand to see someone else be hurt in his place.
"Stupid boy," I muttered.
The guard cocked his head. "What?"
"I'm not talking to you," I said.
I closed my eyes briefly.
Kian, I thought, as if I could send the words through the bond that didn't exist yet. Don't do anything reckless.
The static on the monitor hissed softly, like quiet laughter.
✦ ✦ ✦
Time stretched.
Minutes. An hour. Maybe more.
No food. No water. Just the taste of blood and the drum of my own heartbeat. The guard shifted occasionally, rolling his shoulders, adjusting his grip on the gun. His eyes flicked between me and the door restlessly.
"They won't come for you, you know," he said suddenly.
"Who?" I asked.
"Whoever trained you. Whoever sent you," he said. "People like that don't rescue assets. They replace them."
He wasn't entirely wrong.
"But you're hoping I'm stupid enough to feel abandoned," I said. "So I'll talk."
He shrugged. "It works on most people."
"I'm not most people."
"Yeah, I've noticed."
He studied me for a moment.
"You're not scared?" he pressed.
I thought of Kian alone, glowing, confused, surrounded by people who saw him as a puzzle or a prize.
"I'm terrified," I said calmly. "Just not for me."
The door hissed.
We both looked up as it slid open.
Two people entered.
The first was my captor from before—jaw clenched, knuckles scraped, temper short.
The second was a woman in a white coat, her hair pulled into a tight bun, glasses perched low on her nose. She carried a tablet and the faint smell of disinfectant.
Her eyes were very, very sharp.
"Subject 2: conscious," she said, glancing over me coldly. "Minor physical damage. No sedation. Good."
"I told you she's tough," the guard said, a hint of pride in his voice.
The woman didn't look at him. "Tough isn't the word I'd use."
She approached me, heels clicking on the metal floor.
"Nyra," she said, reading my name off a file without really seeing me. "Or is that fake too?"
I stayed silent.
She met my gaze directly for the first time.
"In case you're wondering, the boy is alive," she said.
Something hot and sharp flared in my chest.
"He's… upset," she added with clinical interest. "Broke a van. Cracked the ground. Very impressive for a first episode. Whatever you did to trigger him, it worked."
"I didn't do anything," I said, voice like ice. "You did. You touched what's his."
"What's his?" she repeated, amused. "Interesting choice of words."
She tilted my chin up with two fingers, examining my face like I was a piece of equipment.
"Your reflexes, your fighting style, your pain tolerance," she mused. "You're not military, at least not ours. Your biology reads… almost human. I wonder what would show up if we cut you open."
The guard shifted uncomfortably. "Doctor Havel, we're under strict orders not to—"
She waved a hand. "Yes, yes. Don't damage the prize. I remember."
Her eyes sharpened again.
"But we can damage the packaging," she murmured.
She leaned closer, her breath warm and wrong against my ear.
"Everyone breaks somewhere, Nyra," she whispered. "Loyalty. Bone. Mind. We just have to find your weakest point."
I thought of Kian, bleeding and confused, asking me what "awakening" meant. I thought of his mother, of her tired eyes. I thought of my instructors telling me again and again that the Vessel came before everything.
I smiled.
"You've already found it," I said.
Her brows rose. "Oh?"
I met her gaze.
"You have him," I said. "He's my weakest point. And you're never going to touch it."
Her hand tightened on my jaw, nails digging into my skin. For the first time, a flicker of genuine irritation crossed her face.
"Sedate her," she snapped.
The guard stepped forward, raising the tranquilizer gun.
I stiffened. No.
If they put me under, I couldn't help Kian. I couldn't warn him. I couldn't do anything.
My fingers tightened around the hidden blade in my sleeve.
Now, my instincts screamed.
Now or never.
As the needle descended toward my neck, I twisted hard, wrenching my body sideways. Pain tore through my shoulders as the binding cable bit deep. I slammed my shoulder into the guard's knees.
He stumbled. The shot went wide, the dart clattering against the wall.
My hidden blade snapped into my hand with a practiced flick. I sliced the cable binding my wrists in one ragged motion, skin tearing, blood slicking the metal.
The room erupted.
"Grab her!" someone shouted.
Too slow.
I kicked off the floor, spinning up and driving my heel into the guard's chest. He crashed into the wall with a choked grunt. I pivoted, blade flashing toward Dr. Havel's throat—
A jolt of agony exploded in my side.
For a second, I didn't understand.
Then my legs buckled.
I looked down.
A second guard I hadn't sensed—standing behind me, stun rod pressed to my ribs, electricity still crackling.
Oh.
Clever.
My fingers went numb. The blade slipped from my hand.
The floor rushed up to meet me.
As the world blurred, I heard Dr. Havel's voice through the ringing in my ears.
"Double the sedative dose next time," she snapped. "And strap her properly. If she gets loose while he's in the same room and reacting, we'll all be ash."
The room tilted.
Somewhere far away, beneath everything, I felt it—
A flare of power.
A boy's desperate voice, raw and fierce:
"I'm coming. Hold on."
Kian.
I tried to answer. To send anything back.
All that escaped my lips was a whisper.
"I was born for you," I breathed, to the darkness closing in. "So don't die before I get to see you awaken properly, idiot prince…"
The sedative dragged me under.