He was heavy.
Like, seriously heavy.
Lyra—no, Amy—staggered under his weight, breath coming out in short bursts. His cloak was soaked in blood. His head lolled against her shoulder.
She kept glancing down.
The red string was still there.
Glowing softly from her wrist… and disappearing straight into the man's chest.
What is this?
She tried touching it again.
Nothing. Her hand passed right through it, like mist made of light.
And no one else was reacting.
No gasps. No whispers. Just... her.
Was she hallucinating?
Was this what dying felt like?
---
She didn't wait for an answer.
One foot in front of the other, she dragged the man back to the manor—the only place she knew. The only place with someone who might explain this madness.
Her muscles screamed. Her vision blurred.
"You better be important," she muttered. "Because if I just carried your royal-looking ass for nothing…"
---
The doors slammed open.
"Doctor!" she shouted. "I need help—he's hurt!"
A few servants screamed. One ran down the hall.
Moments later, the same man from earlier appeared—calm, professional, with silver-rimmed glasses and tired eyes.
"Lay him down here," he said. "Carefully."
Dr. Thorne moved fast. His hands were steady as he cut open the man's shirt, revealing a gash along his ribs.
"Deep wound," he muttered. "But not fatal. Not yet."
Lyra backed away, heartbeat still racing. The red string pulsed between them.
No one else saw it.
Just me.
She watched the doctor stitch the wound, clean it, and apply strange herbal paste that smelled like honey and iron.
"You found him in an alley?" Dr. Thorne asked, not looking up.
She nodded. "He was half-dead."
"Mm." The doctor glanced at a silver clasp on the man's cloak. "He doesn't look like he's from around here. This Crest....I've never seen it before. "
"But I'm glad you brought him here on time...otherwise he wouldn't be alive right now"
"I'm glad he's not gonna die."Lyra said in relief.
Later that night, she sat by the window.
The room was quiet. Too quiet.
She glanced over at the recuperating man.It reminded her of her little brother when she would visit him in the hospital.
"I hope he's doing alright, " she said wiping tears that were forming in her eyes.
The red string shimmered faintly in the moonlight, still stretching between her wrist and the man's chest.
She touched it again.
Still not real. Not physical. Just... there.
Why can't anyone else see it?
Why is it tied to him?
Why me?
She looked down at her reflection in the glass. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. This body wasn't hers. This world wasn't hers. And that man—
A total and complete stranger.What connection could they possibly have with each other?
She was sure he wasn't in the comic...or maybe he was but she missed it.
She curled into herself.
"I didn't ask for this," she whispered.
But the string didn't care.
It pulsed again—soft, slow, steady.
Like a heartbeat.