“Nine-four-seven Onomo Crescent,” Lyra said. Before reading Eve’sfile, Lyra hadn’t known where the house was, only that she’d been there, only that a man who’d claimed to be her father had taken her there, shot himselfthere.
“Your memory of that night, it’s been coming to you in pieces.” Grayson’s voice went uncharacteristically hoarse. “But memory is a physical thing for you, Lyra. Back on Hawthorne Island, any time you wanted to commit something to memory, you’d close your eyes. You’dfeelyour surroundings.”
Right now, Lyra could feel Grayson’s hand on her face and hers on his.
“You need me to go back there.” Lyra didn’t just understand Grayson’s logic. Shefeltit, proving his point, because her body was already anticipating the way it would feel to revisit the scene of the crime.
“The last thing I want to ask you to do is to go back there and try to relive the most terrible, traumatic, soul-rending experience of your life.” Grayson’s voice was struck through with all that pain he’d come out here to feel, and Lyra knew: He didn’twantto ask, but he would. He had to—for Avery. If there was even achanceLyra might remember something…
“What makes you think you even need to ask?” Lyra said. “Asshole.” The word, the closest thing to a nickname she had for him, came out more tender than she’d meant for it to. “You couldn’t hold me back from doing what needs to be done if you tried.”
Chapter 22
LYRA
Onomo Crescent was a perfectly ordinary street, but the moment Lyra saw the street sign, she knew.
ONOMO CRES.
“Monoceros.” Grayson beat her to unscrambling the letters out loud.
“Another twisted little clue.” Lyra sounded calmer than she felt.Lily. Omega. Monoceros.Whoever the man who’d abducted her had been, he’d known about all three. He’d known thatA Hawthornewas one of them. He was very likely expecting the then-Omega to come for him.
Because of what he knew?Lyra wondered.Or was there more to it than that? And why did he takeme?Lyra and Grayson made their way down Onomo Crescent.Why lay this game out forme?
The door to number 947 was painted teal. The oddest sense of déjà vu washed over Lyra, just looking at that door from the street.
“There’s no one home.” Grayson was characteristically confident of that assessment. “We’ll find a key inside that lockbox on the front door. The owners have already vacated the property.”
“You can’t possibly know that just by looking at the house,” Lyra said.
“Can’t I?” Grayson replied.
It took him a mere three tries to break the code on the lockbox, and it was immediately clear when the door swung inward that he’d been right. The house was bare, no furniture whatsoever. Stepping across the threshold and into the foyer did nothing to jog Lyra’s memory, not until she closed her eyes and heard Grayson’s footsteps on the tile floor behind her.Footsteps.
And just like that, Lyra could feel hands on her shoulders—big hands, small shoulders—steering her into the living room.
“Happy birthday, Lyra.”
Lie-ra. Lie-ra. Lie-ra.
The man loops around to crouch in front of her. He isn’t smiling. His eyes are just like hers, but suddenly, they look… wrong.
“I want my mommy.”
“I know you do, Lyra.” He says her name wrong again.
“My name isLyra.”
“No. It’s not.” The man reaches into his jacket, and then he hands her a white calla lily. “Happy birthday, Lyra.”
Lyra opened her eyes and realized she wasn’t in the foyer anymore. She’d walked into the living room, eyes closed, to the exact spot where she could remember standing as a child.
From that spot, she could see the stairs.
Years earlier, they’d been wooden, but they were carpeted now. Lyra could see the steps through the railing, but she couldn’t see the top of the staircase, couldn’t see the landing where she’d found the body.
Lyra willed her feet to move, willed herself to walk to the stairs and slowly up them, her body shaking all the while.