Someone could have pinched Lyra, and she still wouldn't have believed she was awake. The words that had just come out of Mr. Abel's mouth felt too surreal to be real.
"That place in the book?" Her eyes nearly popped out of her head as she gawked at him. He looked deadly serious.
He nodded. "The story was supposed to end with the prince sacrificing himself to save the kingdom. A tragic ending, yes, but an honorable one. He would have been remembered as a hero. But he chose to be selfish." Mr. Abel's expression darkened, his voice sharp with barely contained fury. "Instead, he gambled with thousands of lives. And he lost. The entire kingdom sank to the ocean floor. Everyone is dead. Do you understand how catastrophic this is?"
Lyra nodded slowly, though her mind was spinning. "But… if everyone is dead, what am I supposed to do? That includes him, right?"
"If the book is incomplete and has chosen a hero, then no. He isn't dead." Mr. Abel's gaze was unwavering. "And you are the only one who can cross the Veil of Whispers to that world. The moment you touched the book, it bonded to your DNA. The veil will open only for you."
Lyra swallowed. "I'm guessing the Veil of Whispers is some kind of interdimensional doorway?" She wasn't sure why she was even entertaining this ridiculous idea.
A rare smile flickered across Mr. Abel's face. "You're perceptive. Now, follow me."
Still half-convinced she was the victim of an elaborate prank, Lyra trailed after him, leaving behind the room filled with magic quills. They returned to the meeting room, where Mr. Abel reclaimed his seat at the head of the table.
Lyra's attention snapped to the sheet of parchment and the ornate fountain pen now waiting at her place.
"This is the standard contract for those traveling beyond our realm." Mr. Abel gestured toward the document. "Read it carefully. Take your time. If you agree, sign it." Without another word, he exited through the same door she'd originally entered from.
Lyra waited. Any second now, a hidden camera crew would jump out and start laughing.
...Any second now.
Minutes passed in silence.
She exhaled sharply and, against her better judgment, glanced down at the contract.
It was straightforward—too straightforward. Every detail about her was already typed in, down to her full name and birth date. How did these people even have this information?
The contract stated, in no uncertain terms, that she was voluntarily accepting the mission to travel to Realm #56 to locate Prince Alon Muir and "end his story for good."
Lyra froze. End his story? So what, she was just supposed to hop into another world—one she knew nothing about—and assassinate a rogue prince who had magic sea powers? What happened to the 'rehabilitation' part of the Villain Rehabilitation Bureau?
And how was she supposed to just disappear from Earth? She had rent to pay, things to do! Not that anyone would notice—she was an orphan, and her only real acquaintance was Mrs. Dunphree, the borderline-senile old lady downstairs. Years of being bullied in high school had turned Lyra into a shut-in. She kept to herself.
Her gaze dropped to the bottom of the contract. A clause caught her eye.
All living and personal expenses will be covered for the duration of the assignment.
Well, at least she wouldn't be homeless while gallivanting through dimensions.
Then she reached the skills section.
Lyra stared at the blank line. Skills? What the hell was she supposed to write? She wasn't some trained warrior or magical prodigy.
After a moment of thought, she scribbled: Good at writing.
That was it. Her only skill. What, are they going to kick me out for not being able to swing a sword? She snorted and signed he name on the dotted line.
And then she noticed the fine print.
"The signing party understands that they will not be granted passage back to Realm 92—herein referred to as 'Earth'—until the assigned tasks are completed. In the event of the signing party's death, their possessions (clothing, property, and other assets) shall be donated to a charity of their choosing, unless otherwise specified. By signing you have entered in contract with The Villain Rehabilitation Bureau and will be required to cross the Veil of Whispers promptly."
Lyra's grip tightened on the paper.
No way back?
Death??
Promptly go to another universe???
Now wait a damn minute.
Right on cue, Mr. Abel walked back in, beaming. "I'm glad you signed it!"
"Wait—" Lyra's stomach twisted. "I hadn't read the fine print before signing. Are you guys serious about the death stuff?"
Mr. Abel's expression softened with something that looked almost like pity. "Lyra, you're going to another dimension. Anything can happen. You'll need to take care of yourself. This isn't a joke."
Panic crawled up her spine. "Can I have another contract? I need to think this over."
Mr. Abel shook his head. "No can do. Once signed, you're bound to go through the Veil."
"But I'm not prepared!" Lyra's voice wavered. "Shouldn't I have weapons or something?" How could I have been so stupid? She wanted to kick herself for not reading every single word.
"The Veil will give you what you need when you cross," Mr. Abel said simply. Then, with a firm nod, he turned toward the door. "Now, please. We have to get going."
He walked out, fully expecting her to follow. But Lyra remained frozen in her seat.
From the doorway, his voice drifted back. "Miss Lyra… you have to come now."
Her heart pounded against her ribs. Blood rushed to her head, making her dizzy. But her body moved as if on autopilot, stiff and mechanical.
This time, he led her to a door that had been closed before. He pushed it open.
"You go in alone." Mr. Abel handed back the signed contract. "Take this with you." Then, gripping her shoulders, he looked her straight in the eyes. "And good luck out there. We have faith in you."
And with that, he shoved her through.
The door slammed shut behind her.
What have I gotten myself into?
The room was pitch dark. Lyra couldn't see a thing. She turned, instinctively reaching for the handle—A light tug at the contract in her hand stopped her.
Then another, stronger this time.
The paper wrenched free, floating midair.
It glowed.
A soft golden light pulsed from the parchment as it hovered before her. Then, the book in her bag wrenched itself free, joining the contract in the air.
The two objects shimmered—then crumbled apart.
Lyra's breath hitched as the fragments expanded, twisting into sheets of translucent fabric that billowed as if caught in an unseen wind.
And then came the whispers.
Loud. Frantic. Manic.
A cacophony of voices filled the space, a thousand desperate murmurs pressing against her mind. Lyra clutched her ears, but it didn't help. The sound wasn't just around her—it was inside her.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, the whispers ceased.
The silence was shattered by a sharp, echoing crack.
Before her, the air itself split open—a massive, jagged tear ripping through the darkness. Light poured from the wound in reality, too bright, too overwhelming—
Lyra barely had time to react before everything went black.
This time, because she fainted.