86

LYRA

The entire bloodline of those bloodsuckers needs to be wiped off the surface of the earth.

I don’t care how poetic their tragic pasts are, how sharp their jawlines are, or how damn broody they look under a streetlamp at 2AM—they’re parasites. The type that stains history like blood on a white silk dress. You can scrub all you want, it never really comes off.

They’re the black smudge on a white canvas.

The kind of stain you burn the whole painting for.

And yet—somehow—my best friend has two of the most dangerous ones sniffing around her like she's a walking bag of O-negative and unresolved trauma.

Two.

Not just one of the four fabled Shadow Princes—two.

I honestly thought I’d be dead before I ever got a whiff of any of them. These aren’t the type of monsters that waltz around in daylight with fresh haircuts and designer boots, threatening civilians. No. These ones are ancient. Cursed. Practically folklore. The kind of thing new recruits at STSD whisper about during orientation like ghosts that flirt and kill in the same breath.

Ancient beings that even getting one of them automatically pushes you to a SSS rank. 

And yet here we are.

They’re real. They’re near. And they’re circling my best friend like hounds.

I watch her now—half-bent over the counter in her kitchen—talking about Ezra like he’s just another complicated man instead of the literal ticking timebomb that could rip through the city if he so much as sneezed wrong.

I’ve asked her fifty damn questions in two days. I'm surprised she hasn’t duct taped my mouth shut.

“Lyra,” she says again, sipping her coffee like the world isn’t melting, “I told you, I don’t really know a damn thing about the bond. So, don't stress yourself and me since I can't really feel a damn side effect since the marking.” She grumbles before muttering to herself, “I think it makes me hornier or something.” 

You people. Like I’m the dramatic one.

I'm just looking out for her. 

“No, no. Don’t do that,” I say, pacing by the window. “Don’t act like I’m the one making a mountain out of this. You’re dating a literal shadow prince—”

“I’m not dating him anymore.”

“—you’re lip-locked in emotional warfare with a shadow prince. Does that sound better?”

When she asked me how I knew about them being shadow princes, I said it's a name my favourite author had written in her book.

She just groans and flops on the chair on the island table.

I lean against the cabinet, watching her like she’s my own case study. Everything about her says “I’m fine,” but that twitch in her fingers and the occasional glassy look in her eyes screams something else entirely. She’s unraveling and she isn't even doing anything about it.

She said it'll wane and that what doesn't kill her makes her stronger. 

Stupid girl.

But God, the info she gives me?

I send it straight to STSD Headquarters. Bits and pieces. I don’t want to burn her. No. I’d never sell her out. But someone has to be ready when this all goes sideways. Because it will. It always does.

But the more I listen, the more curious I get.

Because everytime, she’s not describing monsters.

She’s describing men.

Broken ones. Complicated ones. Sad, confusing, and frustrating ones. And some small, twisted part of me is starting to wonder…

What if she’s right?

What if they’re not like the others?

What if somehow, these two… these Shadow Princes… aren’t evil?

She tells me Ezra is cold but kind. That he protects her in weird, painful ways. That Malik is trouble but has never touched her without permission. That she feels… safe. Even when she shouldn’t.

And I know Thea.

She’s not easily fooled. Not by charm. Not by power.

But maybe by love?

“I’m just trying to relieve the weight in my chest,” she says to me one night, voice low. “Telling you everything makes it easier to breathe.”

God.

She still trusts me.

Even when I’m holding half her story hostage in a secure folder on a military-grade laptop.

And it’s eating me alive.

Because the truth is—she doesn’t know who they are.

Not really.

Not what they’ve done.

Not what they’ve been accused of.

Not what STSD has buried in vaults under concrete floors.

She doesn't know who I am either. I can't even outrightly tell her because of the NDA.

And the moment she finds out… I’m scared it’ll break her.

Or worse…

Make her choose.

And I’m not sure I’ll survive it if she doesn’t choose me.

But… did I even choose her?

.

.

.

I’ve had a lot of good weeks in my life.

A few wild ones. A few reckless ones. A handful I can’t even talk about without triggering a full-blown NDA and a slap on the wrist from the STSD.

But this?

This week?

This is the best one.

No blood. No corpses. No mandatory check-ins. No vampire guts on my boots. Just warm air, soft pajamas, late-night binge-watching with my best friend and her tiny human who now thinks I’m the coolest person alive because I bought him dragon-shaped gummies and let him jump on Thea's bed.

Bliss.

Actual, freaking bliss.

I’ve laughed in reality more in the last seven days than I have in the last seven months. And yeah, maybe that’s depressing when I say it out loud, but I don’t care. Not today.

Because today, I go back.

Not just back to Tokyo. Not just back to STSD.

But back into the field.

Back into the war.

Back into the bloodbath that I’ve turned into a lifestyle.

Thea’s curling her hair in the mirror when I whisper it, dreamy-eyed, already imagining the fake retirement party I’ll throw for myself in a year when I'm done with at least one of the shadow princes.

“I’m going to retire at thirty.”

She snorts. Doesn’t even look up. “Sure. And I’m going to become a stay-at-home cat mom in the countryside.”

I grin.

I let her think I’m joking.

But I’m not.

I will retire. I will earn enough points. I will rank high enough to leave the hunting squads and either go solo or vanish entirely. Disappear to a small town, get drunk on coconut wine, tour the earth, move to mars, and finally let my organs heal from all the internal bleeding they’ve been through.

And when I do?

I’m coming back here.

To this woman.

To this house.

To this life I forgot I wanted.

The ride to the airport is quiet in the way only old friendships can be. No need to fill the silence. No pressure to say anything. Just soft music humming from the radio, Finn babbling in the backseat about a new dinosaur he learned at school, and Thea’s profile glowing gold under the morning sun.

I stare at her like a creep, chin in hand, heart too full.

I’ve had flings. Lovers. Hookups I don’t remember and relationships I wish I could forget. Men who left lipstick stains on my ego and women who taught me how to curse in languages I still can't pronounce. But none of them lasted. None of them stayed.

Thea will.

And after I retire?

I’m staying with her.

I’ll be Finn’s forever aunty, attending school plays with sunglasses and a taser in my bag just in case. I’ll help Thea run HMA until we turn it into a global monster. She already put my name down as co-founder—granted, I might have begged, threatened, and guilt-tripped her into it, but still.

I’m in.

We’re building an empire.

A bloody, beautiful, fashion-filled empire.

She glances at me now, one hand on the wheel, sunglasses perched on her head like some editorial goddess with a past no one would dare guess.

“What?” she asks, squinting.

I shake my head, a stupid smile tugging at my lips.

“Nothing. Just thinking how unfair it is that you got hot and rich while I still look like a half-feral raccoon most mornings.”

She laughs.

And God, I’ll miss that laugh.

But I’ll be back.

And next time, it won’t be for a week.

Next time, I’m staying.

Even if two of the shadow princes are still lingering like brooding nightmares.

Even if the STSD sends a hundred warnings.

I’m staying.

Because I think I’ve found my soft place to land.

And I’m not giving it up.

Not even for the Shadow Princes.

Which is why I need to save her from this life.

Our happily ever after can't be possible with them in it.