Veil of Deception

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Welcome to Ravencia—a city of power, secrets, and the kind of past that never stays buried. Here, loyalty is currency, danger lurks in the shadows, and no one walks away unscathed.

You’re about to step into Lyra’s world, where every move matters, and the past has a way of clawing back. Buckle up, because this is just the beginning.

This story has lived in my mind for so long, and now, it’s yours too. Let me know what you think—because trust me, we’re only getting started.

Lyra's POV
 
The soft fabric of my dress grazes my knees as I shift in my seat, its dark hue blending into the dimming light of the café. The quiet hum of conversation drifts from the few scattered customers, their presence distant, almost fading into the background. My hair spills freely over my shoulders, catching the golden glow filtering through the window, a quiet contrast to the weight of my thoughts.

After four years, I’m finally back here, in Ravencia- a city that never forgets, never forgives. It feels both foreign and familiar. But familiarity doesn’t soften the edges—it only sharpens them, reminding me of everything I had become. Four long years since I was fully immersed in the family business, since I became a part of something bigger than myself. Something darker. Something I no longer run from.

My return wasn’t supposed to feel this... hollow. But I don’t flinch from it. I’ve stepped into the shoes my father always meant for me to fill, and they fit now. Perfectly. I am a sharper version of myself, carved by fire and necessity. No longer the naive girl who could turn a blind eye, who could pretend she had a choice. I’ve learned how to keep my emotions buried, how to wear the mask, how to make them believe none of this touches me. Because it doesn’t—not anymore. The weight of it sits on my shoulders, but I stand tall. I don’t break. I don’t falter. This world no longer haunts me. I haunt it.

I gaze out the window, watching two kids tug at a balloon, their laughter spilling into the air, muffled by the glass. A small, almost-forgotten smile tugs at the corner of my lips. It’s strange—how something so simple, so innocent, can feel like a world away. They don’t know how easy life is when their biggest worry is holding on.

For a moment, I let myself sit in that quiet, in the fragile calm I’ve managed to carve out for myself. But then, the bell above the café door chimes—a sharp, familiar sound that cuts straight through the moment. And just like that, the illusion shatters.

My eyes flick to the entrance, and my heart gives a sharp, unexpected twist.

A man steps inside, head slightly lowered beneath the brim of a cap, a mask obscuring most of his face. At first glance, he’s just another stranger in the city, someone meant to blend into the background. But then I see his eyes—sharp, cold, sweeping over the room with practiced precision. Searching.

For a single, breathless moment, I forget how to move.

Those eyes...

They reach into a part of me I thought I’d locked away. A thread buried so deep in my memory that pulling on it threatens to unravel something I can’t afford to feel. My pulse kicks up, a betrayal of instincts honed over years of discipline. I don’t get shaken. I don’t let ghosts from my past crawl under my skin. And yet, here I am—gripping the edge of the table so hard my knuckles turn white, forcing my breath to stay even, my expression unreadable.

The man moves through the café with a quiet ease, his steps measured, deliberate—like someone who always knows exactly where he’s going. For a second, my pulse stutters, my body tensing as I watch him move closer. He’s coming straight for me.

My mind sharpens, instinct kicking in. Calculating. Preparing. But just as quickly, he brushes past me without so much as a glance, heading toward the man seated behind me.

Like I don’t exist.

I exhale sharply, trying to shake the tension from my body. It's nothing. I’m being ridiculous.

And yet, I can’t shake the feeling.

The waiter sets a cup of coffee in front of me with a polite smile, but the rich scent turns my stomach. Caffeine is the last thing I need right now.

I need to get out of here.

The thought doesn’t come as a suggestion—it slams into me like an order, one my body obeys before my mind can catch up. I push to my feet too quickly, the chair scraping against the floor, the sharp sound cutting through the quiet café. I don’t spare the coffee a glance. No polite exit, no second-guessing. My legs carry me toward the door like they already know what my mind refuses to accept.

Still, something pulls at me. I glance over my shoulder.

The man is seated now, his back turned, as if he’s just another person in the city, just another shadow passing through. But those eyes…a whisper from a past I swore I had buried.

The moment I step outside, the cold air slams into me, sharp and unforgiving. I welcome it. Anything to ground myself. But it doesn’t help, not really. My thoughts are already spiraling, dragging me back into a world I’ve spent years mastering, a world where power and danger are stitched into the fabric of my existence. I’ve learned how to navigate it, how to stay in control.

And yet, right now, I feel like I’m slipping.

I take a breath, steadying myself. I can handle this. I’ve handled worse. I refuse to be shaken by the past clawing at the edges of my reality.

But the truth—the one I won’t say aloud—is that I haven’t felt this unsettled in years. Not since—

I shut the thought down before it can form. Not now. Not ever.

Straightening my shoulders, I start walking, forcing each step to be steady, controlled. But no matter how far I go, those eyes follow. Etched into my mind. A reminder that the past is never as buried as we want it to be.