Page 5 of Empress of Ruin
Carter smiles thinly. “You know I don’t kill my toys. It’s far more fun to break them.”
Chapter Three
Lyra
Being back in the states after months of running, dodging, and hiding is at once a breath of fresh air and a thousand-pound weight on my shoulders. I’ve missed this country, I’ve missed my home, I’ve missed myjob, but I feel a new level of fear being here. I’m scared every time someone looks in my direction, worried on the off chance that they’ll recognize me fromthe tape. I’m terrified as I go through airport security and immigration, even though I’ve already tested my passports. I turn away from every security camera I see, don’t hold eye contact, make myself as small and unassuming as possible in a crowd…
I feel like a different person than who I was the last time I was in this country. Iwasconfident and sure of myself. Now, I'm skittish and jump at my own shadow. I hate this new versionof myself, but I suppose that’s what comes of being hunted by a ruthless billionaire who will probably kill me soon after he finds me.
The cemetery is in the same state it always was; bleak and shadowed, the air thick with the weight of loss and finality of death. My parents’ plots are also here, but I’ve never felt terribly compelled to visit them because I don’trememberthem. I only stop by their graves to drop off a bouquet of flowers from a generalized sense of duty, not any real emotional ties.
It’s mygrandmotherwho raised me. It’sherwho took care of me and Zara to the best of her abilities. And it’s Zara who I took care of to the best of my own, which turned out not to be enough. It seems I’mneverquite enough.
This visit feels… different from my previous ones. My hand hovers over my belly subconsciously, as if protecting a loss that’s already taken place. I still haven’t quite had the time to experience grief—save from my brush with sepsis. There were fever dreams, vague hallucinations of a future that I’ve chosen not to remember.
Here, in the presence of so much death and sadness, my recent grief pours itself through my body, settling into my bones. Paying my respects to the two most important people in my life also inadvertently paves a path to feeling the grief of myownloss. It feels almost silly to mourn what never was, to mourn a baby I only knew the existence of for a handful of days, but it lands nevertheless, and it landshard. My posture slumps, my steps weaken, and the bouquet of daisies—Zara’s favorite flowers—shiver in my hands. My eyes prickle with the threat of oncoming tears, and I swallow several times, trying to hold them back.
What would a future have been like if Ididn’tmiscarry? The tape probably still would’ve leaked, by whoever did it. I would’ve still published the expose in retaliation and taken off. Then, I’dhave to consider my child at every juncture in the road. Where I went, what I did, how much money I spent. It would’ve made my world much more complex, but also… beautiful. I’d have something to live for, not just a life I had to try tosurvive.
Zara’s grave is fogged over by the eerie mist settled over the cemetery. I wave as much of it away as I can, set the bouquet on the headstone, and take a seat on the damp grass before it, burying my fingers into the wilting grass.
“Hey, Z,” I murmur in greeting. I can almost see her in front of me, beside me, all around me. Her tight ringlet curls, apparently inherited from our father. Her button nose. Her wide, curious eyes. I can feel her presence in every breath I take here.
I wonder how she would’ve treated her niece or nephew, if they’d lived.
Stop thinking about it.
“Been a long year.” My voice cracks, but I continue. “Lost my job, starred in a sex tape, got blackmailed into an arrangement with a cruel billionaire…” the prickle in my eyes intensifies, and I swallow. “But I also got to see the world. Remember how we used to talk about traveling it together?” My bottom lip wobbles. “I went to all the places we had pinned on that map in our bedroom. Mexico, Portugal, Greece… I didn’t hit France or Spain yet, but I expect I eventually will.” The first tear tracks down my cheek, and I brush it away. “I… I don’t know when I’ll be able to see you again. If I hang around the states, I’ll probably get killed. At least I’d be near you, but…” I shake my head. “I don’t think it’s my time just yet.” And I don’t want to die.Certainlynot at Killian’s hands. He’d make it slow and painful.
“To be honest with you, I don’t really like the person I’ve turned into this last year.” I pluck a blade of grass and twirl it in my hands. “Not just what fear has done to me, but certain… experiences. I miss being young.” I swipe away another tear. “I miss my greatest goal in life being to teach our cat to siton command. Or doing well in school so Grandma would bake those marshmallow cookies. Or basicallyanythingother than what life has become.” I sniff. “Anyway. I love youso much—in this life and whatever comes next. I’ll see you again eventually. Probablysoonerrather thanlater, if I make a single misstep.” A watery chuckle escapes me. “And knowing myself, I’ll probably face-plant straight into death.”
I sit with my grief for a moment. For my parents, Zara, Grandma, my baby… everything I never got to keep. If there’s one central theme in my life, it’s that anyone I love, anyone I get attached to, dies or leaves. There’s never been an exception tothatparticular rule.
“Okay.” I wipe any traces of moisture away from my eyes and check the time on my phone. I have about eight hours before my return flight takes off—I can just go to the airport early and hang around there. The less time I spend out in the wild of the states, the less chance that I’ll get myself killed. “I love you. I’ll be back when I can.”Maybe in another couple of years. I know the gamble I took by coming here, and it’s one of the stupidest moves I ever made… but it’s a stupid move I can live with.Notcoming to see her this year, when so much has transpired, when I’velostso much, would’ve been untenable.
I drop the blade of grass, reach forward to straighten the bouquet, and stand. Walk over to Grandma’s headstone, which is just a few yards away, and press my hand to it.
I miss you. I love you.
“Lyra.”
My god, the memory of Killian is so visceral in this country, I actually hallucinate hearing him. He’s not here, of course; I’ve been careful.Extremelycareful. I’ve taken every precaution all my experience in investigative journalism taught me.
I need to get out of this godforsaken country before I lose my mind entirely.
I turn around to leave, only to freeze.
My body’s response to the sight in front of me is intense and immediate. Goosebumps break out all over my body. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My breath catches in my throat. My heart stops, skipping three beats, then breaks out into a sprint.
I blink. Blink again. Blink a third time, hoping to clear the image in front of me—something thathasto be a hallucination.
But it’s not.
Killian King is there. He’shere.Maybe twenty feet in front of me. His hands are folded into the pockets of black slacks. His white button-down is as crisp as even. His tie is navy blue; his jacket, a deep charcoal.
His expression is blank of any emotions, but his eyes… those vivid green orbs swirl with a wealth of unsaid words. They stare at me with a stark possession, shadowed with dark intentions.
I take a step back. The move is sudden and instinctual. The actions of prey preparing to run from the predator who’s surely about to mangle them.
