"You're more than okay. You're still standing—stronger for the cracks."
Her hand rested on her heart, feeling the steady beat beneath her palm. "I don't feel empty anymore. Not really."
Kael leaned closer, his breath mingling with hers in the confined space. "That's because your hands—" he took her hand in his, intertwining their fingers "—aren't empty either."
And she looked down at them.
Her small hand in his, calloused from years of survival yet fitting perfectly.
Her trembling fingers now still, grounded.
And the image of the scared little girl huddled alone in this box, shivering and silent, began to fade—not erased, but no longer screaming, no longer defining her.
"Kael," she whispered, her black eyes meeting his with a newfound clarity. "I think I'm ready."
"For what?"
She breathed in. Long. Slow. Centered, drawing strength from within. "To leave her behind. Lila. My sister. My mask. My guardian. All of it."
