Chapter 3 Not The Boy I Knew

Lyra woke to the feeling of eyes on her, her head throbbed, her mouth was dry, her body felt heavy, like she'd been dragged through concrete.

She blinked slowly, trying to focus. The room around her was unfamiliar, clean, dark walls, a single window with the curtains drawn. The bed beneath her was firm, the sheets cool against her skin. She wasn't in the motel.

Panic flared in her chest, sharp and immediate, she tried to sit up, but her body protested, everything ached. That's when she saw him.

A man sat in a chair across the room, his arms crossed, his face half in shadow,, he didn't move, just watched her.

Her vision was still blurry, but she could make out the shape of him, tall, broad shoulders and dark hair. Something about the way he held himself made her stomach twist. She blinked again, harder this time, forcing her eyes to focus, and then she saw his face and her breath caught... No. It couldn't be, but it was. Her Stepbrother.

"Cade?" Her voice came out hoarse, barely a whisper.

He didn't answer, just stared at her with those same dark eyes she remembered, the ones that used to soften when he looked at her, now they were hard and unreadable. She pushed herself upright, ignoring the way her head spun, her hands gripped the edge of the bed to steady herself.

"Cade," she said again, louder this time. "Is this really you?"

He nodded once, slow and delibrate, then he stood up and walked out of the room, just like that, no words, no explanation. Lyra stared at the empty doorway, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. He just left. She threw the blanket off and swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet hit the cold floor, and she steadied herself before standing, her legs wobbled, but she forced herself to move.

She stumbled toward the door and stepped into the hallway, the house was quiet, she could see the outline of furniture in the rooms she passed, but she didn't stop to look. She followed the direction he'd gone and found herself in a living room, with a window that looked out onto a yard, and and there he was.

Standing near the window with his back to her, his hands shoved into his pockets, she stopped in the doorway, her chest tight.

"Cade," she said, her voice shaking.

He didn't turn around.

"You don't have any questions for me?" she asked, stepping closer. "After all these years?"

Still nothing, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "You didn't even look excited to see me."

He finally turned, and the look on his face made her stop mid-step. It wasn't excitement, it wasn't relief. It was something darker, something she didn't recognize.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, his voice low and rough.

She stared at him, her breath catching in her throat. This wasn't the boy she remembered, the one who used to ruffle her hair and tease her about her drawings, the one who made sure she ate dinner when her mother forgot, the one who always made her feel safe, this was someone else entirely.

He was bigger now, his jaw was sharper, his shoulders broader, there were tattoos on his arms that she didn't recognize, dark ink that crawled up to his neck, and his eyes, those same dark eyes, looked at her like she was a problem he didn't know how to solve.

"Don't come any closer," he said, his voice sharp.

She froze, his tone cut through her like a knife. It wasn't a request, it was a warning, she should have listened, she should have turned around and walked away, but she didn't. Instead, she looked at him, really looked at him.

The leather jacket hanging off his shoulders. The bike keys on the table behind him, the tattoos she didn't recognize, the hard lines of his face that didn't exist eight years ago. Only his eyes were the same, dark and familiar, like they'd been waiting for her.

"It's me," she said quietly.

His jaw tightened, and for a second, something dangerous flickered across his face. Something she couldn't name.

"That's exactly why you shouldn't be here," he said.

The words hit her harder than she expected. She felt them settle in her chest, heavy and cold.

"What does that mean?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't answer, he just turned his back to her again and stared out the window.

Lyra stood there, her hands trembling at her sides. She wanted to scream at him, to demand answers, to ask him why he left, why he never called, why he looked at her like she was a stranger, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she took a shaky breath and asked the only question that mattered.

"Where's my dad?"

Cade went still and silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. She watched his shoulders tense, watched the way his hands curled into fists at his sides.

"Cade," she said again, her voice breaking. "Where is he?"

He turned to face her, and the look in his eyes made her stomach drop.

"He's dead."