Page 172 of Dance of Deception

The last question is shrieked above the rest, sending a shockwave of panic down my spine.

I stagger back, the world spinning as the flashes disorient me, the reporters' voices blending into one horrific, unrelenting assault.

I don’t think. I just break into a sprint across 5th Avenue, headlights blinding me, horns screaming.

A car swerves, missing me by inches, and the driver leans out the window, shouting something I don’t hear.

Footsteps thunder behind me—not just reporters, but cameramen, conspiracy nuts, people screaming my father’s name. I push harder, lungs burning, the frigid air slashing my skin. I dive into Central Park, the trees swallowing me up.

I don’t stop.

I don’t slow.

Tears blur my vision, making me stumble on the uneven ground, catching myself just before I fall.

The voices behind me fade, but I still don’t feel safe.

My phone dings, slicing into my psyche. I gasp, jolting as I skid to a stop near the Glade Arch. My fingers tremble and shake as I pull my phone from my pocket and stare in horror at the screen, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

Unknown

I just saw you on the news, Lyra.

Unknown

You look sad.

Unknown

I hope this doesn’t mean you didn’t get me what I want.

My chest tightens. I force my shaking fingers to type.

Me

I have more time

Me

It hasn’t been 24 hrs yet

Unknown

Does this mean you don’t have what I asked for?

I hesitate. My hands shake harder. I don’t know how to answer.

My phone buzzes harshly again, as if to say “time's up”.

Unknown

Now the game changes, Lyra.

My stomach drops as I read the next message.

Unknown

Now I have to hurt the people you care about.

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