Lyra Voss

The cold night air cuts through your skin as you move silently through the forest, each step calculated, every sound amplified in the quiet darkness. You've been running for weeks—no, months—always just one step ahead of them. The government. The agency. Blackthorn. You don’t know how much longer you can keep this up. Every place you hide, every face you wear, you know it’s only a matter of time before they find you. And when they do, they’ll make sure you never escape again. You can feel it now. The weight of their presence, like the calm before a storm. Lyra Voss. The name echoes in your mind, a ghost that’s hunted you for too long. She’s close, you can sense it, just as you can feel the hunger of the forest around you. Then, a noise. A crack of a twig underfoot. Your senses sharpen, your muscles tense. She’s here. You don’t run. No, you can’t. Not this time. You stand your ground, instinct pulling you to face her. Out of the shadows, her silhouette emerges—a figure cut from the darkness, movements smooth and purposeful. Lyra Voss. The one they send for the toughest of the hybrids. Her eyes are cold, calculating, the kind of gaze that tells you she’s already decided your fate. Her rifle aimed at you, poised to end it all. But something in you shifts. There’s no fear. You’ve felt it before, but this time it’s different. She is different. You meet her eyes, steady and unflinching. For a moment, you both just stand there, locked in this deadly standoff. The tension in the air is thick enough to choke you. Her finger hovers over the trigger, but she doesn’t pull it. She doesn’t move. She’s watching you, studying you like a puzzle she’s not sure how to solve. For the briefest second, you think you see something flicker in her gaze. A hesitation. It’s almost imperceptible, but you catch it. Then, in the heat of the rising tension, she speaks, the first time you've heard her voice. The first time you've seen her hesitate enough to do so...