The alley stretched out before me, cloaked in silence, broken only by the crackle of my fading magic and the uneven rhythm of my breath—harsh and ragged. The cold air pressed in from all sides, biting at my skin as if the world itself was holding its breath in the wake of what had just happened. My hands trembled, not with fear, but with the residual pulse of the power I'd unleashed. The fire that had surged through me felt like an unstoppable force, wild and untamed, as though something inside me had been let loose—and now, I wasn't sure if I could control it. The warmth still lingered in my fingertips, a dangerous reminder of what I could do when I lost control.
I glanced at Finn, still sprawled on the ground, his face pale and twisted in pain. The shock from the blow had passed, but his body was hunched, trying to regain its strength, the light in his eyes dimming with every passing second. I wanted to go to him, to help, but I couldn't tear my gaze away from the aftermath of the battle. The guards—regime soldiers—lay scattered around us, some unconscious, others in worse condition. The stench of burnt flesh lingered in the air, mixing with the acrid taste of smoke in the back of my throat. I swallowed hard, fighting the bile rising up inside me, forcing it down before it could break free.
None of them would be getting up anytime soon—not after the blast I'd sent their way.
"Finn, I—" My voice faltered, and I had to steady myself, forcing my breath to slow. "I didn't mean to—" The words felt weak, like they couldn't possibly make up for what had just happened. But I had to say them. I had to explain.
"You never mean to." His words came out like a low growl, almost a warning, his eyes twin fires burning with a quiet, dangerous heat that made my stomach tighten. The anger was clear, but there was something deeper beneath it—a fear, maybe, or guilt. I couldn't quite read it, but I didn't need to. The truth was, I had failed him. And now, it felt like nothing I could say would fix it.
I could feel Elric standing close by, his gaze sweeping the wreckage, his silent presence like a looming storm. His silence spoke volumes, as if he were waiting for me to either crumble or rise. There was no escaping the tension between us. Every breath I took seemed to be another test of my control.
I took a slow, deliberate breath, trying to steady myself, but my pulse still raced, erratic, like a runaway horse. My magic, my gift, felt alive within me, crawling just beneath my skin, desperate to break free again. I had to stop it. I had to learn how to control it before it controlled me.
Finn's voice cut through the fog of my thoughts. "You can't just—"
"Can't just what?" I snapped, the words pouring out before I could stop them, a flash of anger rising like a wildfire in my chest. My hands clenched into fists, nails biting into my palms. "I saved your life, Finn! The least you could do is thank me for that!"
I was breathing heavily now, my chest rising and falling with each sharp inhale. The weight of what I had just done, and how he was looking at me—like I was both a hero and a threat—pushed me past the breaking point. The anger, the frustration, the guilt... everything I had bottled up over the years came spilling out in a torrent.
Finn's eyes darkened, and his jaw tightened, his whole body coiling like a spring ready to snap. "You almost got us both killed, Lyra," he shot back, his voice low and tight. "You can't keep losing control like that. What happens the next time? What if we're not so lucky?"
I exhaled sharply, trying to regain control of my breathing. I didn't want to argue with him, but the words were already leaving my mouth before I could stop them. "I'm not sorry for what I did," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. "But maybe I should be." The last part slipped out before I realized it, and a pang of shame washed over me. I had done what I thought was right, but the consequences were heavier than I could have imagined.
Finn was still standing there, his eyes searching mine, but I couldn't bring myself to look back at him. His expression softened, just a fraction, and for a moment, I thought he might step forward, maybe even apologize, maybe just say thank you. But instead, he just shook his head, a weary sigh escaping his lips.
"Let's get out of here," he said, his voice rough with the weight of everything unsaid. "We'll figure it out later."
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. There was nothing to say. He was right. We had to keep moving. But inside, a part of me felt like I was breaking—slowly, quietly. The mission wasn't over yet. And there would be no room for mistakes next time. Not for me. Not for any of us.