The restaurant Kade's mother chose did not list prices on the menu.
Lyra noticed that first.
White tablecloths. Low music. Glasses so thin they felt fragile in her hands. The kind of place where conversations were quiet not because people were polite, but because privacy was expensive.
Mrs. Monroe arrived exactly on time.
She did not sit right away. She studied Lyra with open assessment, like an object whose value needed confirmation. When she finally took her seat, her smile returned, smooth and controlled.
"You're younger than I expected," she said.
Lyra met her gaze. "You're exactly as I imagined."
A flicker of surprise crossed the woman's face. It vanished quickly.
"I'll be direct," Mrs. Monroe said, folding her napkin. "Kade's life is not his own. Every decision he makes affects investors, partners, and a legacy that predates both of us."
Lyra listened. She had lived her whole life listening.
"This," the woman continued, gesturing vaguely between them, "is temporary. He doesn't know that yet, but he will."
Lyra set her fork down carefully. "And you thought I should hear it from you."
"I thought you might appreciate honesty." Her eyes sharpened. "There will be compensation."
The word landed like a slap.
"I don't want your money," Lyra said quietly.
Mrs. Monroe tilted her head. "Everyone wants something."
Lyra stood. Her legs felt steady, even if her chest did not. "Then you don't know me at all."
She left without finishing her meal.
That night, Kade finally called.
"I'm sorry," he said before she could speak. His voice was strained. "She shouldn't have done that."
"So it's true," Lyra replied. "I'm an inconvenience."
"No," he said quickly. "You're the only thing that feels real right now."
She wanted to believe him. She wanted to lean into the warmth of his words and ignore the weight behind them.
But something had shifted.
The city was watching more closely now.
And Lyra was beginning to understand the cost of being activated.