His Perfect Lyra

Lyra's POV 

The food is cold.

He said it's my favorite.

Soggy grilled cheese sandwiches.

Tomato soup.

What is this… a kid's meal?

Am I a child to him?

…No. Maybe it really was my favorite once.

Maybe he's trying to help me remember.

Or maybe he's just messing with me.

The room feels even colder.

It's not the AC.

It's…

Silas.

He's sitting there.

Watching me eat.

Blood still drying on the side of his head.

A mess down his neck and shirt.

He doesn't even care.

Then it hits me—

Head injuries.

Concussion.

Brain bleed.

Worse.

If Silas dies…

I die too.

Trapped in here. Alone.

I should say something.

But I can't.

Instead, my finger taps my head.

Once. Twice.

His eyes… get colder.

"Yeah, it's your fault. You hit me with a chair-"

His arms crossed.

His legs crossed.

He still watching.

"I'm not fixing my wound. If I die…You die here. Alone."

My hands clench my shorts.

It feels like my soul just… slipped out of me.

"Let's hope I'm still around in a few days…Or you know what happens next."

He stands.

Leaves.

Gone.

The room stays cold.

Cold food.

Cold air.

Cold everything.

I stare at the soup.

…Nothing.

My head is empty.

Attack him?

Failed.

Escape?

Failed.

Find a clue?

Failed again.

There's really nothing left.

Except…

Study him.

Learn him.

Use what I know against him.

Yeah… that's it.

I'm not giving up.

Second escape attempt…

It'll have to wait.

BLAM.

The door slams open.

He's back.

Tools in hand.

Metal. Screws.

What's he doing…?

"Lyra. If you're done eating—Go to the corner."

That voice.

That same cold voice.

Before I even think about it…

My body moves.

I stand in the corner.

Quiet.

Watching.

Silas drills something into the floor.

Metal against wood.

What's he doing with my chair…?

Once he's done,

He picks up the tools.

Leaves again.

I step forward.

Look closer.

My chair…

Bolted.

Stuck to the ground.

I can't use it as weapon anymore.

He really planned everything.

Like he already knew what I'd try next.

I stare at the chair.

Longer.

My heart…

Colder.

He wasn't just locking me in this place.

He was locking down my mind.

Piece by piece.

And I was running out of pieces to move.