Rain pounding on cold metal.
A younger Lyrius, curled up behind a rusted car in a slum alley. Ribs showing.
Face dirty. Blood on his hands.
He remembered tearing open a dead rat's stomach just for food.
He remembered the footsteps of people passing by—and never stopping.
His father's face—fading away into the nothingness His final words:
> "You have to survive."
.....
And then—
A voice snapped him out of it.
"I've got your back!"
An arrow flew.
It knocked Oliver's next swing wide. Another shot planted between Oliver's feet, forcing him to reposition.
Lyrius turned his head in disbelief.
Vera. The boy stood beside him, bow half-drawn, breathing hard.
"Cas sent me," Vera said. "He's dealing with Darian. Said to cover you. Let's take him together—"
But Lyrius didn't respond. Not with thanks. Not with relief.
He didn't move.
He didn't even blink.
Instead—
He stared at Vera like he was a stranger.
And then, slowly, he said:
"Don't get in my way."
