Page 61 of Whispers of Ruin

“You still believe that?”, he says, almost to himself. “You think you are ordinary? That’s adorable.”

Xan tenses beside me. I can feel he is holding back. Letting me speak. Letting me stand for myself. Lucian continues.

“You were born into something bigger than yourself, Mira. You have spent your whole life running from shadows you didn’t even know had names. But we knew. I knew. And now, whether you like it or not, you’re standing at our mercy.”

He leans in. “The question isn’t whyyou. It’s… why not sooner?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Because deep down, some part of me—some fractured, hidden part—already knew I did not walk into this by accident. I was brought here for a reason.

Lucian straightens, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve.

“Ask your next question carefully, Mira Vale. Each one peels back a layer. And not all truths are kind.”

I wet my lips, pulse still hammering behind my ribs.

“I don’t want riddles,” I say. “I want clarity. What exactly does the Order expect from me?”

Lucian delays his response. He studies me instead, like he is measuring something—my resolve, maybe. Or my ignorance.

“We expect loyalty,” he finally says, walking away. “Discipline. Obedience, in time.”

I hold back a scoff.

“Obedience? I’m not a fucking soldier.”

He turns his head slightly, just enough for me to catch the flicker of amusement on his face.

“No. You’re something far more dangerous.”

I freeze at that, a tight breath catching in my lungs.

Lucian gestures toward me, fingers like a puppeteer.

“You have the potential to be useful in ways most here never will. Not because of what you are now… but because of what you could become. We cultivate that.”

My skin crawls.

“Useful how?”

Xan shifts beside me. His arm brushes mine, just enough to ground me. He wants me to stand in this. To face it.

Lucian speaks again, softer this time.

“You came here asking for truth. But the truth has teeth, Mira. And it will not bite gently.”

That last sentence lands hard. I draw a slow breath.

“So, I’m a project. A tool to be molded.”

His smile returns, elegant and bloodless.

“No, Mira. You’re not a tool.” He leans forward. “You’re an investment.”

My heart is thudding, trying to beat the truth out of me, but I keep my face still. I have no idea what kind of game Lucian is playing—or how many pieces are already on the board, but I know this: I’m not the one holding the rules. I turn to Xan. He looks calm, but I know it is an act.

“I’m not afraid of purpose,” I finally say, carefully. “Doesn’t mean I enjoy walking blind.”

Lucian laughs just barely.

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