She finally stopped in front of a decaying housing block. The metal door hung slightly off its hinges.
"It should be this house," she whispered.
Darian checked the perimeter before nodding. They slipped inside. The hallway reeked of mold and unwashed bodies. Lyra led him down the corridor to a door near the back and knocked softly.
Silence.
She tried the handle. It turned with a metallic groan.
The room inside was a cramped, windowless box. Thin curtains divided a single mattress from a hotplate and a dripping sink. At first glance, it was empty.
Then, Darian heard the ragged sound of breathing.
"Lyra, wait—" Darian warned, but she was already stepping toward the mattress.
Behind it, huddled together in the dark, were five children. The oldest, a girl of maybe twelve with hollow cheeks and terrified eyes, threw her arms out to shield the others. The youngest, a toddler, had their face buried in the older girl's filthy sweater.
Lyra froze, her heart dropping into her stomach. She slowly crouched down, making herself as small as possible.
"Hey," she whispered gently. "It's okay. I'm Lyra. I'm Mira's friend."
At the sound of the name, the oldest girl squeezed her eyes shut, a tear cutting through the dirt on her cheek.
Darian stood near the door, keeping his back to the frame so he could watch the hall. "Where is she?" he asked, keeping his voice quiet and level.
A little boy, no older than six, peeked out from behind his sister. "The bad men took her."
"Which men?" Darian pressed.
The oldest girl opened her eyes, her voice trembling. "The Broker's enforcers."
Darian swore under his breath. The Broker wasn't just a street thug; he ran the local syndicate.
"Why?" Lyra asked, her voice cracking. "Mira doesn't have anything worth taking."
The little boy sniffled, wiping his nose with a frayed sleeve. "Mira talked about you. She told the bad men she wasn't scared of them... because she had a rich friend from the topside. The Spero family."
The air in the room seemed to vanish.
Lyra stopped breathing. The blood drained from her face as the realization hit her with the force of a physical blow. Mira hadn't just been kidnapped. She had been taken as bait
"Because of me," Lyra choked out, her hands flying to her mouth. "They took her because of me."
Darian's chest tightened. He watched Lyra crumble, the crushing weight of guilt folding her in half. He stepped away from the door, his instincts warring between holding a perimeter and comforting her. He awkwardly reached out, resting a heavy, grounding hand on her trembling shoulder.
"Lyra, don't do that to yourself," Darian said quietly. "You didn't put hands on her."
"But it's my fault!" she sobbed, looking up at him, her eyes wide and wet. She looked from Darian to the starving, terrified children left behind.
She grabbed the fabric of Darian's jacket, her knuckles white. "Darian..."
He looked down at her, seeing the desperation fracturing her composure.
"You're a hero," she whispered, her voice breaking on the word. It wasn't a compliment; it was a plea. A desperate prayer to the only person in the room who could fight back. "Please. I can't leave her to them."
Darian looked at the children. He looked at the rusted, rotting walls of the undercity. He thought about the heavily armed syndicate enforcers waiting for them somewhere in the dark. It was a suicide mission. No prep. No backup.
"Stay here with the kids," Darian commanded softly, locking eyes with her. "I'll bring her back."
Lyra shook her head violently, her grip on his jacket twisting the leather until the seams groaned. The trembling in her hands stopped, replaced by a sudden, rigid tension. "No."
Darian frowned, his protective instincts flaring. "Lyra, I told you no arguments. It's a bloodbath waiting to happen. You don't have the training—"
"And you don't have a way in," she interrupted. Her voice lost its tremor, hardening into a desperate, stony edge. "They don't want Mira. They want me. If you go in there alone, they'll execute Mira the second you trip an alarm."
She released his jacket and turned to the oldest of the children. "Tessa, take the others into the maintenance cellar and throw the deadbolt. Don't open it for anyone but me."
Lyra turned back to Darian, her wet eyes fiercely determined. "If you hit that compound blind, you'll both die. But I know what they want."
She swallowed hard, forcing down the terror that threatened to choke her. "If I walk up to those gates, they won't shoot. They'll open them. They would want the extra bounty money from keeping me alive. I am your Trojan horse."
Darian stared down at her, weighing the terrible truth of her words against his urge to keep her out of the crossfire. He hated it. It meant letting her walk right back into the cage she had barely escaped. But tactically? A frontal assault was suicide, and a death sentence for the hostage. Using her as bait was the only play they had.
He let out a slow, sharp exhale, his jaw setting as he finally relented.
"If we do this, you stay exactly where I can see you until they take you in," Darian ordered, his tone turning cold, professional, and leaving no room for debate. "When the shooting starts, you drop to the floor and stay there. Are we clear?"
Lyra wiped her face, stepping toward the door, her fear eclipsed by resolve. "Clear. Let's go."