(Burn if I die)
Entry 23: The Lancaster Problem
I don't know when Lyria Lancaster became the axis my world rotates around. Maybe it was when she stood between me and three Syndicate enforcers with nothing but a fish-gutting knife and that terrifying smile. Maybe it was when she started leaving sugar cubes in my coat pockets after bad teleport days. Or maybe it was the first time she called me an idiot and it sounded like "you matter."
The infuriating woman has a sixth sense for when I'm about to do something stupid (which is always). She'll appear out of nowhere, grab my collar, and yank me back from ledges both literal and metaphorical. Last week I caught her sewing up the tear in my favorite jacket - the one I got stabbed in last month. When I called her out, she threatened to poison my next meal.
We don't talk about the way her hands shake for hours after one of my fragmentation episodes.
Entry 37: The Veyther Complication
Ardyn Veyther is the most frustratingly decent person I've ever met. The idiot apologizes to inanimate objects when he bumps into them. He once tried to pay a mugger extra because "times must be hard." His idea of rebellion is drinking tea past midnight.
But when the fragmentation pain gets bad - when I'm coming apart at the seams and Lyria's running out of curses - Ardyn sits with me. Reads aloud from his stupid books until I remember how to breathe. Lets me grip his wrist too tight when the pain crests, even though he bruises like overripe fruit.
Last winter, when I got stuck mid-phase during a blizzard, he wrapped himself around me like a human blanket and talked for six straight hours until I stabilized. Frostbite patterned his skin for weeks after. He never mentioned it.
Entry 51: Things I'll Never Say Out Loud
Lyria thinks she's the one who adopted us. She's wrong.
They're the ones who keep pulling me back from the edge. Lyria with her knives and quick hands, always knowing exactly how hard to punch my shoulder to ground me. Ardyn with his quiet stubbornness, treating my broken edges like fascinating puzzles instead of defects.
I've memorized the exact cadence of Lyria's "you're being an idiot" sigh. The way Ardyn's fingers tap against his thigh when he's worried. The particular shade of horror they both get when I teleport into danger.
I should leave. Before my instability hurts them. Before the Syndicate catches up. Before they realize what a bad investment I am.
But.
Lyria would hunt me down. Ardyn would give me that disappointed scholar look. And somehow that's worse than the alternative.
Margin Notes:
Steal better ink (this batch smudges)
Find Lyria's hidden sugar stash
Stop Ardyn from "politely confronting" the baker about pie theft allegations
Later Addition (in shaky script):
They're my first home that didn't come with chains. If the gods want to take that away, they'll have to pry it from my cold, disintegrating hands.
Final Page:
Burn this immediately. If Lyria finds it I'll never hear the end of it.
[The journal shows signs of frequent rereading, with worn edges and ink smudges from thumbprints. A single sugar cube is pressed between the last pages.]