His Perfect Lyra

Silas's POV-

Beep. Beep.

The cashier scans a box of pads, then tampons. Drops them into the bag like she's in a hurry.

"That'll be $12.74. Card or cash?"

I hand over a folded $12 bill with a polite smile.

She reaches for it—then pauses.

"Young man, it's $12.74. You're short. Will you be covering the rest?"

I blink at her. Smile tighter.

"It's just seventy-four cents. You can't spot me that?"

She shakes her head, already annoyed. "$12.74 or leave."

But then, someone behind me—a guy, tired-looking—grumbles and pulls out a dollar.

"Here. Take it. We've got places to be."

I give him a grateful nod and smile, handing the full cash over. The bag is mine now.

Outside, it's raining. Good.

Not far to walk. Just a stop before home.

I should stop by the clothing store.

She might like something new.

She deserves a gift. She's been so quiet lately.

Can't stop imagining her in a dress.

Something soft. Yellow. Her color.

When she finally becomes Lyra, maybe she'll smile more. Maybe she'll love me more. 

At the store, an assistant helps me pick out options. By the end, I've got:

Two dresses

New pajamas

More essentials

But then—I see it.

A bright cartoon duck t-shirt.

Oversized. Ridiculous.

Perfect.

She'll love it. 

It'll hang just right off her shoulders.

Too big on her. Cute. Sexy.

I giggle—yes, giggle—as I stare at the bag.

Rain's lifting by the time I get home.

Clouds still low and dark. Not even night, but it feels like it. 

I like that. It makes the house feel quieter. Like a secret.

The keypad beeps. I step inside.

No sound. No lights. Just how I left it.

Shoes off. Presents on the kitchen table. 

I sit down and pull out my phone.

Time to check on Lyra.

But—

No live feed.

My screen shows black.

The camera's offline.

No.

No no no.

Did she break it? Did she hurt herself?

Is she—?

My chest tightens. My fingers go numb.

I can't lose her.

I bolt out of the kitchen, racing for the stairs—the basement door.

Down I go.

Feet pounding wood.

Down the hall.

To the last door.

I unlock it.

Step in.

She's asleep. Curled in the bed. Breathing. Safe.

Thank god.

But… where's Ducky?

I move quietly, scanning the room for anything out of place.

Near the bathroom door, something catches my eye—right in the corner.

I turn.

And there it is.

Ducky. Ripped wide open.

A stuffing massacre.

And the fork still lies nearby, bent from the work.

She found the camera.

She destroyed it.

I cover my mouth, grinning wide.

She found it.

She figured it out.

Just like I hoped she would.

Oh, I wish she was awake to see my face.

She deserves to see this smile.

I walk over and gently pick up what's left of Ducky.

Then I turn and leave her there.

Alone. In the dark.

No lights for the next few days.

That's her punishment.