Interstellar: Return of the Villain
Chapter 211: No Hiding From Her

Chapter 211: No Hiding From Her

The massive training grounds buzzed with quiet chuckles, and people whispered sympathy as Marty and his crew became the latest spectacle.

The surrounding crowd tried to hold back their laughter, but it was hard not to feel just a tiny bit bad for them.

"What’s going on here?"

Ryan stormed over, his voice cutting through the noise. He took one look at the scene before him.

He choked on his coffee, bending over with a cough. His eyes landed on Marty and his crew—mouths gagged, eyes practically begging for help.

"Tsk," Ryan snickered, shaking his head. "Alright, enough! Messing around’s over. Breakfast’s almost done!" he barked, waving off the crowd.

Not long after, Lyra arrived, effortlessly sipping warm coffee, looking all delicate like some fancy porcelain doll.

The way she carried herself screamed authority.

Everyone straightened up, some out of respect, others out of sheer fear. Yet Lyra seemed totally unfazed by their attention.

Her gaze landed on Marty, his eyes bloodshot from exhaustion.

"What’s this? Pulled an all-nighter?" she asked, raising one eyebrow.

Mentally, everyone groaned in sync: Come on, boss lady! You know exactly why they didn’t catch any sleep!

She tilted her head ever so slightly. "It wasn’t that cold last night. Shouldn’t have been hard to sleep."

"..." Rowena and the rest, standing stiff as boards the moment Lyra showed up, let out a collective sigh of relief. At least they had the sense not to get on her bad side.

Ryan finished off his coffee in one last gulp before barking out, "Squads, fall in!"

T9 snapped into formation, but nobody could resist sneaking glances at Squad No. 7. Especially the rookies from Squads No. 1 through No. 5. Marty’s face burned with embarrassment, turning a lovely shade of beet-red.

"Roll call time," Ryan called out.

When Marty’s name came up, Lyra finally removed the glowing band sealing his mouth and gave him a sideways glance. "Speak."

Marty, through clenched teeth and visible rage, managed to croak, "Present!"

Once roll call was done, Marty and his crew tried every trick in the book to sneak away.

However, no matter where they ran or how they dodged, that cursed green light band Lyra used was like it had a mind of its own, always finding them.

They had no choice but to endure, stomachs growling, until lunch.

When the afternoon training session rolled around, they were dragged right back, still tied up like lobsters.

By now, no one even blinked at the sight. It was becoming routine.

As the sun finally began to set and training was over, Marty thought he saw his shot.

While Lyra was busy chatting with Ryan, Marty slipped away, making a beeline straight for his bunk.

’Finally, some peace!’ he thought, collapsing onto his bed.

But the next morning? He opened his eyes to find Lyra, sitting right there on his dorm window ledge, casually sipping her morning coffee.

That was it. Marty threw in the towel. He gave up.

Grumbling, he jumped out of bed and threw his clothes on in a hurry. "You win," he muttered as he rushed off to join the others.

At this point, Marty knew there was no hiding from her. Not in the barracks, not even in the men’s restroom.

Lyra would drag them out of there without batting an eye—pants down and all.

The only escape? Leaving the base entirely. Once they stepped out, even murder was technically out of her jurisdiction. But as long as they were stuck inside the base, there was no place to hide from her relentless grip.

Marty, an old hand at dealing with this, had already accepted his fate.

Bruce and the others, however, was still trapped in nightmares of that eerie green light chasing them down.

After their rebellious spirits were finally squashed, leading the team became a breeze for Lyra.

During the days, Morrison brought Lyra some good news.

Then, before Squad No. 7 could carry out their mission. The soldiers got what they had been waiting for: their monthly break was just around the corner.

The team practically buzzed with excitement as they made their afternoon plans.

Bruce and the others, though, was a bit afraid of Lyra at this time.

After being at the mercy of her "training methods," they were afraid that she’d tie them up again and leave them hanging from the bars as some twisted prank.

But, to their surprise, Lyra didn’t give them a second glance. She strolled toward the base gates, where her personal Lev was waiting for her.

Crag, the driver, kept his gaze straight ahead, too scared to even glance her way. "Phelixes is expecting you for your break. He has prepared a feast for your return. Shall we head straight there?"

"Later," Lyra replied, her tone barely containing her excitement. "Where’s Morrison?"

"Morrison left early today," Crag said, already knowing what was on her mind. "He recently bought a villa. Would you like me to take you there?"

"Yes," Lyra nodded, a small grin forming on her lips.

Lyra stared out the window as the city streets blurred into a golden haze, the light from dusk refracting off the Aegis Shield that enveloped the city.

The soft glow made everything feel surreal, but her thoughts were anything but peaceful.

Images of the man in the metallic mask flooded her mind—along with the searing pain he’d caused her. She clenched her fists, her eyes hardening.

’No matter where you think you can hide, I will find you. And when I do, I’ll crush every single bone in your body.’

Morrison’s villa wasn’t far from his company. It was tucked away in a quiet, upscale neighborhood.

Even though it was a second-hand property, the renovations had cost him a small fortune.

He’d spared no expense, turning the place into a fortress outfitted with top-tier surveillance and defense systems. All of it, built like a gilded cage, was for his obsession—the woman he refused to let go of.

When they arrived, Crag knocked, and an elderly maid with silver hair greeted them. Her smile was warm, but Lyra’s sharp gaze noticed the telltale signs of someone more dangerous than she appeared—callused fingers, likely from years of handling firearms.

Morrison seemed so committed to this elegant prison.

The living room was cozy, with floral-patterned tablecloths and cushioned couches. A vase of fresh lilies added a touch of refinement.

Lyra settled herself, her senses sharp despite the comfort. From upstairs, she picked up faint sounds—noises that should’ve been awkward or intimate. But to her, they were just white noise, unworthy of her attention.

After about thirty minutes, Morrison finally appeared at the top of the stairs, looking completely disheveled.

His usual clean, polished look was gone. He wore casual shorts and a tank top, his skin glistening with sweat, deep scratches marking his neck and chest.

His hair, normally slicked back, hung loose and damp, giving him a more primal, rugged vibe.

Crag, completely innocent to this kind of scene, flushed red at the sight.

"Boss," Morrison croaked, his voice hoarse and strained. The maid hurried to hand him a glass of water.

Lyra wasted no time, cutting straight to business. "Has she talked yet?"

It had been three days since they’d captured their target.

Morrison ran a hand through his tousled hair, looking exhausted. "She won’t speak," he admitted, his tone frustrated. "But she’s been asking to see you."

"And her mother and brother?" Lyra asked, arching a brow.

"We picked them up this afternoon. They’re downstairs, waiting for you."

Lyra’s gaze flickered with interest as she glanced at her faithful subordinate, an idea already forming in her mind. "Well, if this is what you want, I guess I can be the bad guy for you one more time."

Morrison relaxed, relief washing over him. "Thank you so much for this, Boss."

’Thank me?’ Lyra thought with an inward smirk. Anyone who knew her knew that playing the villain was her specialty.

Soon, the maid escorted Chloe down the stairs. She looked exhausted, her golden hair messy but still glowing like sunlight, her green eyes sharp and defiant—traits that had clearly captured Morrison’s obsessive interest.

Lyra, calm and composed, took a slow sip of her warm drink before speaking in an indifferent tone. "Morrison says you wanted to see me?"

Chloe’s eyes burned with anger, her voice filled with emotion as she spat, "My father sacrificed everything for the Shedd family. And in the end, you silenced him—because of you, everything he worked for was destroyed."

Lyra remained unbothered, casually piecing together what Chloe meant.

"Curiosity got the better of him," she said, her voice flat.

From Chloe’s fragmented words, Lyra could already guess the situation. Her father, Brian, had been tangled in something big—a secret research project involving Lyra herself.

Brian had clearly gotten too close to something dangerous.

Though the details were sealed tight, Brian had left behind some breadcrumbs.

Lyra crossed her arms, her gaze icy as she pinned Chloe with a sharp look. "Where are your father’s documents?"

Chloe’s demeanor shifted immediately. She stiffened, eyes narrowing as her defenses went up. "I’m not telling you anything!"

Her bravado lasted only a moment. The maid ushered in Chloe’s mother and younger brother, and just like that, panic washed over Chloe’s face.

Her eyes darted to them, and then to Morrison—the man she had just been with moments ago. Betrayal and disbelief filled her voice as she demanded, "Morrison, how could you do this to me?!"

Morrison’s expression faltered, his voice low and almost apologetic. "It’s not up to me. She makes the decisions here."

His words barely echoed in the room before a blood-curdling scream shattered the air.

Blood splattered onto the delicate floral upholstery as Chloe’s mother’s hand hit the floor with a sickening thud.

Lyra calmly twirled the bloodied dagger in her hand, her face cold and impassive. "Chloe," she said in a voice so smooth it was terrifying, "are you sure you want to watch me slice your family apart, piece by piece?"