Page 93 of Her Soul to Own

“Just saying,” he says with a shrug, leaning back half an inch. “For a babysitter, you’re awfully territorial.”

Zara presses a hand between us like she’s defusing a bomb. “God, stop measuring dicks. Lyra’s breaking, and you both need to fix your shits before she turns to stone.”

Her voice is the first real thing in this bar.

I glance at her and see the panic hiding behind her mascara. She’s scared. She’s scared of what this means and what Lyra might do next, which is enough to pull me back.

Zara leans back with a sigh, her arms folded. “I brought you both here because Lyra doesn’t trust anyone. But she trusts you. Both of you! So start acting like it.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “You brought an FBI agent into this clusterfuck?”

She crosses her arms even tighter. “You think this is just about influencer drama and leaked videos? Someone used a federal node. Lyra’s not just being targeted. She’s being watched, tracked, and played. That’s national-level interest. And I can’t protect her on my own.”

Elijah sips his whiskey, calm as a fucking monk. “Zara’s right. Someone flagged her because it’s not just about her. It’s about the people connected to her. The names. The money. The reach.”

I stare at him. “You saying this is a bigger game?”

He leans forward, his voice low and even. “I’m saying Lyra Vane is the pawn. And someone out there thinks she’s the key to checkmate.”

I grit my teeth. That explains the timing and the precision. Even the silence from Evander. And why every brand, every outlet, and every name with reach has suddenly decided that Lyra is untouchable.

Zara turns to me, and her voice cracks when she says, “I haven’t talked to her, but Iknowshe’s shutting down. Silas, please, we have to get ahead of this before it’s too late.”

I nod. “Fine. I’ll work with him… for Lyra.”

Elijah shoots me a smug, slow smile. Like he’s already won something I haven’t figured out yet.

I rise from my seat. “Anything else?”

“That’s it… for now,” Zara says, her eyes hard. “I just needed you two to meet and start building some trust.”

I nod once, turn, and walk out.

But inside me, something unspools fast and sharp. Because Elijah Blake wants to protect Lyra. But I want to burn the whole goddamn world down so nothing ever touches her again.

I stalk out into the cool night, my heart hammering. I don’t trust Blake. Not his badge, not his smirk, and not the fact that he knew to show up at that bar like it was some fate-laced meet-cute.

Lyra doesn’t need saviors. She needs war.

I slip into the Dodge. The engine rumbles to life, and I drive straight back to the estate. As I pass the abandoned mall lot—my last stakeout spot—I think about everything Blake said.

Evander hasn’t returned any calls. Someone higher up is already pulling strings. Clearly, this leak isn’t just personal, it’s political.

If Evander Vane is mixed up in this, then it means the rot goes deeper than I thought. Maybe Lyra’s father isn’t just ignoring her. Maybe he’s waiting for her to fall apart.

And if that’s true, then I’ll make sure he learns something very simple, very fast, which is that if someone hurts her, I won’t just arrest them. I’ll erase them.

I didn’t think I’d end my night with a fucking business card from an FBI agent burning a hole in my pocket, but hey, life’s full of surprises. Like sushi in a gas station. Or Lyra not slamming the door in my face last week.

I drive back to the estate in a daze. There’s a low hum in the tires, a grumble in my gut, and rage clawing its way up my chest like it’s dipped in fire.

Elijah Blake. That slick suit, that calm voice, and that smile, like he’s already read the ending and just isn’t telling anyone yet. I don’t like him, and he knows it. Yet somehow, that just makes him smirk harder.

Still, Zara brought him in. And she doesn’t do anything without a reason. The girl might dress like a luxury ad and cry during perfume commercials, but she’s sharp. Terrified, but sharp.

When I reach the estate, the iron gates creak open like they’re exhaling. The estate stretches ahead, huge, beautiful, and about as warm as Evander’s fucking voicemail. I park under the canopy of trees and lean back, staring at the upper floor.

Her light’s still on. Of course it is.