Red String {EDITING}

Chapter Nine | Tracking Frost

"That's right," Arrow acknowledged. "Sorry to take you away from the work you were no doubt enjoying," he said, the sly grin on his lips letting her know he knew exactly how tedious her job was. "But it seems we have some more questions regarding... your illustrious past."

Lyra stiffened, spine as straight as a board as she urged her legs to move. She would need to sit down for this, because something about the atmosphere of the room told her it would be a long conversation.

"Are you alright?" Rylan peered at her – having materialised at her side in an instant – his hand resting on her shoulder. Touch came so easily to him. Lyra supposed his childhood had something to do with it. Goddess knew her own slight hesitance came from the same place. Her hand went to her neck almost instinctively—

The cold slice of a blade. Bone crunching. Blood gurgling—

"And let's stop right there..." Rylan mumbled, larger hands surrounding her own before they could scratch at her neck like they usually did. "We can delay these questions if you want..."

Arrow cleared his throat pointedly. "Blythe and Zen went out of their way to come here—"

"They can come again later. It's more than simple enough thanks to Blythe," Rylan said, letting go of one of her hands to twist his body to hide her from the rest of the room's occupants. "She's still getting settled here."

"Ugh." Arrow rolled his eyes. "If I ever wind up that"—he waved in Rylan's direction, storming back towards his desk—"protective of my mate, then please shoot me and save me the embarrassment of realising how much of an overprotective imbecile I've become."

A low chuckle reverberated around the room, and Lyra peeked out from behind her mate, swallowing nervously as the black-haired elder stood. Dark blue eyes, like the colour of the deepest ocean, flickered between her and Rylan. "So the little fish is finally growing a spine," he murmured. "Seems like finding your mate has done you some good."

"Blythe," Rylan greeted cordially, but the taller man was already striding around him – attention fixed on her.

Frowning, he walked closer, and Lyra fought the overwhelming urge to back away. He reminded her of a wolf stalking its prey. At least until he reached out and grabbed her jaw, moving his own face closer to peer at her own. "Now..." he spoke, confusion lacing his voice as those blue eyes bore into her boring brown ones. He was too close. "Why does this face of yours look so familiar, I wonder?" Ignoring Rylan's determined glare, he turned her face from side to side, inspecting her keenly. "Curious."

"Leave the poor child alone already," the white-haired man called, still hunched over where he sat on one of the sofas in the centre of the room. "I would prefer it if we could hurry and get what we came for... The sooner I find him, the better."

Lyra turned to look at the white-haired elder as best she could – despite the hand still clutching at her face. She was hardly a child anymore. Why had she been called there, she wondered. What did the white-haired elder want with her past?

But when he turned, the answer became obvious enough. His face was too similar. Those pale blue eyes were the same as his. Those lips so similar to his, only they weren't curved into a manic grin. Her heart thudded in her chest, and it was only the tightening grip on her chin which grounded her there, echoes of laughter ringing in her ears as she gasped. "Breathe," Blythe ordered, eyes narrowed as he scowled something fierce, pulling her attention onto him instead of the ghost of her past. The same one which wouldn't stop haunting her. It was like the sound of his laughter had been engraved in her brain.