Noir

I stared at Noir in shock, my heart racing as I processed his words. Eton, his breathing shallow and labored, leaned against the wall, his hand pressing against the wound in his side.

"We can't leave," I protested, fear for Lyra's safety overwhelming me. "We have to get her out of here."

Noir's eyes narrowed. "You don't," he hissed. "The price for your trespass is already paid. The Elders know you are here."

Eton straightened, his fangs elongated and glinting in the low lighting. "Where is she, Noir?"

"Safe," Noir replied, his gaze flicking to the crossbow bolt. "But she is not your concern."

The tension in the room was strong, my hand inching towards my own weapon. Thorin''s eyes met mine, and I knew he was thinking the same thing. We couldn't leave without her, no matter the cost. "The hell it's not our concern," Thorin growled. "Take us to her!"

Noir sighed, his expression unreadable. "No," he stated, his tone brooking no argument.

But Thorin was having none of it.

"Take us to her," he repeated, his hands tightening at his side as a dangerous growl issued from deep within his chest.

Noir's eyes flickered with annoyance, but his stance remained firm. "If you wish to survive this night, you will leave now."

Eton's hand on my shoulder was the only thing keeping me from charging at Noir. I could feel the anger and frustration building within me, a volatile cocktail of emotions threatening to boil over. But we had to be smart, to think strategically. We couldn't risk our lives without knowing the full extent of the danger we were facing.

"What's going on?" Eton demanded, his voice strained with pain but firm.

Noir hesitated, his eyes flicking between us. Then, with a resigned expression, he spoke, "Lyra has chosen her path. She is no longer just your friend. She is a part of this world now."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Chosen her path? What the hell did that mean?

"You're lying," I snarled. "We're not leaving without her."

But Noir's gaze was unwavering. "I don't lie. Again, if you wish to live, you need to leave."

Eton's hand tightened on my shoulder, his eyes boring into mine. "We'll come back for her," he murmured, the promise in his voice unmistakable.

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The decision was agonizing, but we knew we had to retreat, to live to fight another day. With a final look at Noir, we turned and left the fortress, the weight of our failure pressing down on us like a heavy shroud.

~~

The journey back to the agency was fraught with tension. Eton's injury was severe, but had already begun healing.

Dawn broke as we stumbled into the agency, our faces etched with fatigue and pain. The debriefing was short and bitter, the room thick with unspoken accusations. Afterward, the rest of the team retreated to their quarters, leaving us to face the reality of our failure.

I was restless after the debriefing, the taste of failure bitter in my mouth. I wandered through the agency, the early morning light casting harsh shadows across the marble floors, a reminder of the library the agency had been before it was renovated into the Steel Agency.

Tired of wandering, I found myself in the training room, the smell of sweat and determination lingering in the air. The sound of swords clanging together and the grunts of exertion were absent, replaced by the hollow silence of defeat. As I passed the wall-mirror, I saw my reflection and grimaced. My eyes were red-rimmed and haunted. The bruises from the battle were already fading, but the emotional scars felt fresh and raw. Going to the bathroom, I stripped off my blood- stained clothes and stepped into the shower, the hot water washing away the grime of the night but not the heaviness in my heart.

The steam filled the room, creating a haze that mirrored my thoughts. I let the water beat down on me, feeling the warmth soothing my muscles. The scent of mint from the soap filled my nose, a stark contrast to the coppery tang of blood I couldn't shake from my memory.

After my shower, I wrapped myself in a towel and found my way back into the training room where Eton was throwing punches at the punching bag. He looked up at me, his eyes weary but his gaze sharp. "You okay?" he asked, his voice gruff. I shrugged, not trusting my voice. He handed me a cup of steaming tea that he must have brought from the kitchen minutes before I emerged from my shower. The scent of chamomile and honey were a gentle caress on my senses. The tea was warm and comforting, the sweetness coating my throat and calming my nerves. I sat down on the edge of a chair, crossing my legs and adjusting the towel's edges. "What now?" I murmured, the question hanging heavy in the air. Eton sighed, having returned to punching the bag. "We regroup," he said finally. "We find out what happened to her and why she's chosen to stay with them and figure out how to get Noir to let her go."

I nodded, the heat from the tea seeping into my cold bones. "But how do we do that?"

"We'll need to get more intel," Eton said, his eyes never leaving the bag. "And we need to make sure she wants to leave."

The rest of the day passed in a blur of activity. I helped Sterling gather information on new cases, while Eton took calls from his contacts in the supernatural world. The smell of coffee and the faint buzz of the computer screens filled the room, creating a cocoon of urgency and despair.

I spoke to a few of Lyra's team, but the words felt forced, my mind elsewhere. The taste of fear and uncertainty lingered in every bite of the dry sandwich I had for lunch, the crunch of the bread echoing the hollowness inside me.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, we gathered in the war room again, the map of the fortress now a battleground of red marks and potential escape routes.

"We know she's alive," Thorin said, his voice heavy. "But we don't know what kind of deal she's made."

Eton's hand found mine under the table, his thumb tracing comforting circles. "We'll get her back," he murmured, his eyes remaining focused on the map.