His Perfect Lyra

Silas's POV 

The movie runs like usual.

I start wondering when she'll get tired of it. When she'll finally ask me for something else.

Another activity. Another small freedom.

But it has to be her move. Not mine.

And then—soft, barely above a whisper:

"Can we talk?"

Ah. I knew it.

You still have that spark in you. Not empty. Not yet. But it's okay. That'll come later.

"Sure," I say, smiling just a little. "We can talk as long as you want."

And just like I expected—she goes straight for it.

"What's my real name?"

Right on cue.

"Lyra."

Because that's all she is now. My sweet Lyra.

She isn't satisfied. Of course not.

"No… I mean, what was my actual name before you called me Lyra?"

My smile fades slightly. My voice cools.

"Lyra. No questions."

She glares. Beautiful. That fight in her eyes—that's what I'm here for. That's what I'll break.

"How old am I?" she pushes again, pulling her knees up like she's bracing for a hit.

I don't hit her. Never. Not unless it's absolutely necessary.

"Same as my age."

Truth—but not the full truth. No numbers. Not yet.

Then she flips it:

"Then how old are you?"

I smirk. Proud. Her mind is still fragile, but her spirit… it's still burning.

"Same as your age."

Before she can speak again, I lift my hand—calm, slow.

"Three questions. Plus one bonus."

She blinks, confused.

"You can ask me three more questions another day," I explain. "Like I said… my Lyra doesn't question me."

I sit up, resting my arms on my knees, watching her carefully. Every flicker of her eyes.

"Since I'm so kind, I allowed it today. Because you deserve to know. But… you're not ready yet."

She looks away like she accepts it. Like she's lost.

I almost pity her.

But not too much. If I pity her too much, she might slip away from me.

I let the movie finish. No more talking.

I love this part—just sitting beside her, quiet. Peaceful.

One day, she'll be perfect. One day, she'll crawl into my arms all on her own.

For now… lunch.

I stand up, stretching slightly—

And suddenly, I feel a small tug at the back of my shirt.

I look over my shoulder.

She's holding me.

Her eyes wide, nervous, full of fear but still… she's here.

I wasn't expecting that.

She lets go quickly, voice barely there:

"Can I have crepes?"

Crepes.

Ah. That's right. The movie mentioned it. She wants crepes. Something sweet.

How cute.

A rush of warmth hits me, flooding my mind, and I kneel down immediately, taking her hands gently in mine.

"You finally asked for something you want," I say softly. "I'm so happy."

I squeeze her hands just a little, steady and calm.

"I can get you crepes. As many as you like. What kind? Strawberry… or chocolate?"

But before she can answer, I decide for her. Carefully. Slowly.

"No… you like double chocolate crepes."

And this time…

Her hands aren't shaking anymore.