Halszka paces like a trapped gas particle, hair tied in a messy knot, hands jittering. She should have been there with Lyra. Nothing like this would have happened. She has not slept. She is not even sure she has blinked.

  Lena sits cross-legged on the couch, clutching her phone so tightly it looks like she might break it. Her usual grin vanished hours ago.

  Neither of them was allowed to see Lyra. The Swiss Guard was polite, but firm. “She’s under medical observation. She’s still asleep.”

  Lyra is going to be so pissed. And so scared. But they cannot do anything. So they wait. And wait.

  Then Lena’s phone buzzes. She blinks. “Wait. Wait, wait, she’s streaming.”

  Halszka trips and nearly falls, lunging to see the device. They huddle together and open the stream.

  There she is. Lyra. Half her face wrapped, only one eye visible. Whispering.

  “Hey there, kids. Sorry for the bandages, but someone splashed me with acid today. Quite rude, if you ask me.”

  Lena lets out a sound like a laugh that got strangled halfway. Halszka’s hand flies to her mouth, eyes wide.

  Then comes the chaos. The jokes. The nuclear threats. And the full Lyra-shaped meltdown. “Don’t burn the world down in the meantime. Kaos Queen out.”

  The stream ends. Silence.

  Lena tosses the phone onto a nearby pillow and covers her face with both hands. “Holy shit, she’s alive.”

  Halszka sits down, not even realizing she has started pacing again. “I’m going to kill her, though. She’s so dumb!” Tears of relief, anger, and grief roll down her cheeks.

  Her phone buzzes.

  So does Lena’s.

  They check it right away. It is Lyra.

  “Come and hug me, I’m scared.”

  Not a word is said. They are already running.

  A moment later, the door to Lyra’s room slams open – harder than it should have. Lena bursts in first, Halszka only half a step behind.

  And there, sitting upright in a narrow hospital bed, wrapped in gauze and bandages, is Lyra. One eye visible, cheek below glistening from tears. She does not speak. She looks at them, arms opening like a child desperate for consolation.

  Lena does not even blink. She crosses the room in a flash and nearly tackles her, collapsing into a hug that is half-gentle, half-desperate. Her forehead presses to Lyra’s, arms wrapped tight around her – as if trying to physically prevent her friend from falling apart.

  Halszka follows, slower. She kneels beside the bed, carefully curling against them – her hand clinging to Lyra’s arm, making sure it is really her.

  No one says anything. Just breath, warmth, a slight tremble. Lyra holds them both in her skinny arms. In an embrace that is both motherly and childish.

  She is not alone. Not anymore.

  “I think I might be allergic to hydrochloric acid,” says Lyra through tears.

  Lena lets out a sharp, wet exhale – half laugh, half sob. She pulls back just enough to look at her and says, “you’re an idiot.”

  “You nearly died.” Halszka gives a broken chuckle. “And that’s your first line?” She is still clutching Lyra’s arm like it might vanish.

  “We were so worried,” says Lena, hugging Lyra back.

  Lyra nods weakly. “I’m sorry. Can you two stay? For a while?”

  They respond by climbing onto the squeaking bed frame. Halszka at least takes off her shoes. Lena does not bother.

  And in that tangled mess of warmth, tears, bandages, and zero dignity, they hold each other.

  Until Lyra finally falls asleep for real.

  ***

  The room is dim now. Only the soft glow of the bedside lamp makes Lyra’s fragile frame visible. She is still holding Jorge the sheep tight. Her breathing is steady – shallow, but even. Her good eye flickers beneath the eyelid.

  Halszka sits on the edge of the bed. She draws her legs up, hugging her knees. Lena sits backwards in the visitor’s chair, arms draped over the top, chin resting between them. They just listen to the steady beep of the machines.

  Then, quietly, “I didn’t think it would actually happen. Lyra kept talking about the danger, but I thought she was paranoid,” says Halszka.

  Lena does not react for a while. Then she nods – just once. “Same. I thought people talked shit, maybe sent threats.”

  They both look at Lyra. At the scars that would never fade. Unless Lyra pulled some Lyra-magic, of course. But this felt beyond even her. Probably. You never knew with Lyra.

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  “And she still talked to them. Right after waking up. Joked. Protected them. The dumb goblin. She could have contacted us first. Told us she’s alive.”

  “She’s not just protecting them. She’s protecting us too. Tell me you weren’t ready to smash Miriam’s head into a wall until there was a hole in it.”

  Lena does not refute.

  “But she loves people too much to want that. To want anyone harmed,” says Halszka.

  “She threatened to nuke the planet.”

  “That’s Lyra-speak for ‘I love you’.”

  They both chuckle.

  “So… what now?” asks Lena after a moment.

  “We help her heal. We stay with her. We don’t let her carry this alone.”

  “She won’t want that. She’ll try to pretend she’s fine in, like… two days. Tops.”

  “Then we don’t believe her,” Halszka decides.

  They just sit there. Tangled up in something bigger than them. But at least they had a choice. They decided to live this way. They look at Lyra. And they see a girl just like them.

  ***

  Two days have passed.

  “I am fine. Perfectly. Mentally. Physically. Philosophically. I’m just missing some symmetry – which is overrated anyway. I feel great.”

  Lyra has disassembled and reassembled her IV stand three times out of boredom.

  Now she is pacing.

  “You fainted trying to tie your shoes this morning,” says the nun, clearly done with Lyra.

  “ADHD. Not health related. Different things. I get dizzy when bored.”

  “She’s spiraling,” says Lena.

  “I love you guys. I know you’re just trying to take care of me,” says Lyra, sitting back down. “Now.” She gets up again not even three seconds later. “I want to see the girl who threw acid at me.”

  The room freezes.

  “You what?” asks Lena.

  “I want to see her. Face to face.”

  “Sweetie, I really don’t think…” starts Halszka, but Lyra silences her by pressing a finger to her lips and making shushing noises. Halszka swats her hand away, irritated. “Lyra, no.”

  “Lyra, yes,” answers Lyra with conviction.

  “She is in custody. Confined in a secure area within Vatican jurisdiction. She is… not well. Spiritually or otherwise,” the nun says, impossibly calm.

  “I don’t want to hurt her. I want to understand her. I want to know if she saw a monster when she looked at me, or if she thought she was saving the world.” She pauses. “And I want to see if she still does.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” says Halszka.

  “I know,” says Lyra, tucking Jorge the sheep under her arm. “That’s why I will.”

  Halszka walks up to her and holds out an open palm – clearly waiting. “Your tablet. And your phone,” she says. “Just in case you get a brilliant idea of streaming the encounter.”

  Lyra sighs. But complies anyway.

  After asking the guards, they learn Pope Francis predicted this – and already given permission.

  The perpetrator? She said yes, too.

  Not with defiance. With resignation.

  ***

  The door opens with a hydraulic hiss. The room is quiet. Sterile. Behind a faintly visible panel of reinforced glass, Miriam sits with eyes downcast. Fingers twitching in her lap. Bolts keep her chair attached to the floor. The oversized jumpsuit swallows her frame, its sleeves long enough to hide her wrists.

  She does not look up when Lyra enters the room. But her breathing changes. She goes still. Then slowly, as if against her will, her head lifts – just enough to see Lyra already seated across her on the other side. Bandaged. Scarred. One eye. A plush sheep cradled in her arm. Smiling.

  Miriam’s lips part, as if words are about to form. But nothing comes out.

  ?“Yo, what up? You’re the girl who squeezed a lemon in my eye, right?”

  Miriam flinches. Just barely. Her fingers tighten around the edges of the chair, like she’s bracing for impact. Or recovering after one.

  “That’s… not what it was.” Her voice is thin, dry.

  She looks up. This time fully. Sees how the visible half of Lyra’s face does not move quite right. She cannot bear to look anymore. Her gaze focuses on the sheep instead. The way Lyra holds it, like it was supposed to be a joke – except it is not.

  “I didn’t want to hurt you.” The words slip out, but then it feels like they fall uselessly to the floor. Even Miriam does not believe them. “I wanted to… stop you.” A pause. “From leading humanity to Hell. I thought you were a test. I still don’t know if I was wrong – or if I failed.” Her eyes fall again.

  ?“Understandable,” says Lyra. “I never really know if I’m right or wrong either, you know?” She smiles – soft, genuine. “Want to talk? Ask questions? Maybe we’ll figure it out together.”

  Miriam sees the warmth of the smile and her legs shift to the side, instinctively preparing to escape. But she stays.

  “You think you attacked me,” Lyra says, her voice calm. “But really, it was the cruel world that came for us both.”

  Miriam looks at her again, this time in confusion. Then she leans in, her voice careful. “Why weren’t you angry?” She doesn’t mean now. She means on the stream. Right after Lyra woke up. “I hurt you,” she says, louder now. “On purpose. I planned it. Executed…”

  She cuts herself off. Lyra is still smiling. Calm. Unshaken. Like a mother watching a child realize they did something wrong and trying to apologize.

  “Why do you smile at me?” Miriam whispers. Her hands tremble in her lap.

  ?“Because it wasn’t your fault.” Lyra’s voice is soft. “People make mistakes. I made so many myself. So no, I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at the people who led you here. Because I can see that you are hurting just as much as I am.”

  Miriam’s lips tremble. “They told me you’d lie.” She draws a shaky breath. “They said you smile and crack jokes when people suffer. That you manipulate. But everyone believes you. Because… because you’re smart, and pretty, and you told the world a tragic tale about your childhood.” Her voice falters. “They said it was all fake.” She looks up, meeting Lyra’s eye. “But you’re not smiling like that. It was all true, wasn’t it?”

  “It is true,” admits Lyra. No jokes. No deflection.

  Miriam hesitates. “One thing they never told me was how to deal with…” she gestures vaguely at Lyra. She shrugs, helpless. “With you not being evil.” Then, almost too quietly to hear, “I wish you were.”

  A silence settles.

  “Do you think I can…” Miriam starts after a moment and pauses, eyes searching Lyra’s face. Her voice drops to a plea. “Do you think I can fix it?” She sounds like a child who knows they did something terrible, sees no way out of the mess – but still hopes the grown-ups might know how to make it okay.

  ?“Depends,” says Lyra. “Define what you want to fix exactly, and I’ll let you know if it’s possible. I’m a genius, after all.” She closes her eye and twists her face in an odd way.

  It takes Miriam a moment to realize it was meant to be a wink – one that does not quite work now that Lyra has only one eye. Miriam snorts before she can stop herself, and then it turns into a sob. But through it, she smiles. “I want to fix… me, I think. Not what I did to you. I can’t… I mean…” She stumbles over the words. “The version of me that ended up here. The one that clung to an online preacher and his forum. And the one that needed this kind of space.” She pauses. “Is that even possible to fix?”

  ?“Easy,” says Lyra. “Give me a month and you’ll be fixed.” She sounds like she believes what she said. “I’m serious, by the way. Just be ready for quite a shock therapy. All that you have to say is that you believe me. And that you want to change. You’ll still be broken, but mended. Same as I am.” She shrugs. “Technically speaking, I should be a sociopath, you know? At least that’s what Lena, my therapist, says. But I can live with that. And you can live too. Even if our childhoods were a little fucked.”

  Miriam blinks, stunned into silence by the sheer bluntness of it – then something shifts. Because, of course, Lyra can fix her. The tension in her shoulders unravels, like someone realizing they have already fallen, and maybe that means they can stop fearing the drop.

  “A month? That’s it?” She shakes her head slowly and exhales. “You just called yourself a sociopath and offered me salvation in thirty days.” She leans forward, meeting Lyra’s eye. “I don’t know why, but I believe you. And I want to change.”