CHAPTER 37 LYRA
LYRA
A dozen ballgowns hung in the secret closet, each more beautiful than the last. Lyra stared at them, unable to stop the pounding chorus in her brain. Screw Eve and her deal. I have to tell him. Except it wasn’t that easy.
The money.
The file.
It was everything Lyra could have hoped for coming into this game: the ability to save Mile’s End, a start on getting answers.
I’m not taking any damn deals. Lyra locked her gaze on the gown that hung dead center.
The dress was blue, overlaid in gold, its skirt full and flowing, deep blue turning to a dark and stormy gray near the floor.
Lyra reached out to touch the translucent gold fabric that flowed like water over the surface of the skirt.
Even on a hanger, the dress looked like it was in motion.
It looked like the kind of ballgown that should have had a name. The Sky at Night.
It looked like the kind of dress that a girl who’d caught the attention of Grayson Hawthorne should wear.
I should have told him already.
Lyra dropped her hand from The Sky at Night and forced her attention to the other ballgowns.
One was silver with layers of white tulle that made it look like it had been called forth from the mists.
Another was a deep, dark red with black stitching so intricate that Lyra felt like she might become hypnotized just looking at it.
There was a forest-green gown, a pale silvery-blue one, lavender, indigo, glittering turquoise.
Black. Lyra stopped in front of the black dress. Compared to the others, its design was simple and understated. A fitted bodice, a loose and flowing chiffon skirt that would hit mid-calf. More evening gown than ballgown , Lyra thought. More versatile. Practical.
Her choice made, Lyra lifted the hanger from the rod and realized suddenly that the dress wasn’t entirely black.
As the chiffon moved, colors became visible in the skirt, obsidian giving way to purple-gray, a deep and fire-kissed pink, and honey amber.
Lyra went still, and as the dress she held did the same, it looked black again—just black, the true colors of the feather-light chiffon only visible with motion.
Lyra couldn’t help thinking that this dress, like The Sky at Night , deserved a name.
Darkest Sunset.
There were no ordinary options here. Trying not to let that matter, Lyra shed her armor and downed the gown, contorting her arms to zip up the back. As she did, Eve’s voice snaked its way back into Lyra’s mind.
Drakos , it whispered. Reyes. Aquila.
Three names—none of which mattered to Lyra as much as Mile’s End. Focus on the game , she told herself. If she refused Eve’s deal, winning would be her only option.
If?
Setting her jaw, Lyra looked back to the closet, to the end of the rack.
Luxury purses. She chose one with a long strap.
Like her dress, the bag was black, made of what looked like crocodile leather with small, glittering embellishments.
White gold. Diamonds. More importantly, it was just large enough to hold the music box, the charm bracelet, and the dice.
Once she’d stocked the bag, Lyra made her way into the bathroom. With every step, the colors hidden in the chiffon skirt of her black gown made themselves known. With every step, Lyra told herself that she knew exactly who she was and what she had to do.
No one gets to manipulate me. Lyra looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, ignoring the way the gown accented her curves and focusing instead on the familiar face that looked back at her.
Amber eyes. Full lips. Golden tan skin. Lyra had never looked much like her mother. She didn’t sound much like her, either.
You are a kind and generous soul, Lyra Catalina Kane. The memory of that declaration had Lyra’s fingers curving inward toward her palms.
A kind and generous person would have told Grayson before she’d kissed him. A smart person would have reported everything to the game makers while Eve and her associate were still on the island.
Unless that smart person was considering taking the deal.
I’m not. Holding her own gaze in the mirror, Lyra knew what her dad would have said—about Mile’s End, about deals with the devil, about living life in a way that let you look at yourself in the mirror at night.
I am no one’s weapon. Lyra made herself think the words. I am no one’s pawn. And she was going to tell Grayson about Eve.
Eve, who’d offered Lyra millions to lose a game and break a Hawthorne heart.
There was a knock at the bedroom door.
Lyra looked away from her reflection, and her gaze fell on the exquisite masquerade mask she’d been given the night before—hers, she’d been assured, to keep.
Putting it on, Lyra looked at herself in the mirror one last time, and then she retrieved Odette’s opera glasses and stuck them through the sparkling, cross-body chain on her diamond-encrusted bag.
I am no one’s weapon.
I am no one’s pawn.
And I am going to tell him.
Lyra made her way toward the door. She could feel Grayson on the other side of it, even with solid mahogany between them, and it suddenly occurred to Lyra that knowing that Eve had sent her here might change things for Grayson. The way he sees me. The way he looks at me.
Clearly, Grayson had a history with Eve.
Another knock.
Lyra snapped herself out of it and opened the door, and there he was, wearing the same plain black mask he’d donned the night before, a stark contrast with his icy blond hair. This time, his tuxedo was white. Perfectly tailored—with a black silk shirt underneath.
Just looking at him, Lyra viscerally remembered stepping out of time with their first kiss and proving to herself with the second that she was no one’s puppet, that whatever this thing was between Lyra and Grayson Hawthorne, it was theirs and theirs alone.
Grayson absorbed the sight of Lyra wearing Darkest Sunset , and he held out his hand.
Lyra took it, and she didn’t say a word. Not yet , she told herself. But soon. Lyra knew what it was like for everything to change in an instant, what it was like for there to be a before and an after .
Once she told him, she might well be playing this game alone.
“Shall we make our way down to the dock?” Grayson asked, and then he smiled—a rare, actual Grayson Hawthorne smile, the kind fully capable of bringing the world to its knees.
I have to tell him. I’m going to tell him, even if it kills me. Soon.