The canyon stretched endlessly before them, its walls serrated with fissures that pulsed like veins under skin. Clara Crimson kept her eyes low as she walked, though she could feel the hum pressing into her chest with each step. It was quieter now than last night, but no less oppressive—like a drumbeat too slow to hear but too loud to ignore.
Damien paced just ahead, hand never straying far from the hilt of his sword. His shoulders were rigid, every movement purposeful, but Clara could see it: the weariness dragging at him. He hated the direction they had chosen.
Correction—the direction Evelyn had chosen.
"East," Evelyn said again as if repetition could make it rational. Her dark braid swung sharply with her stride. "The fissures weaken there. Less resonance. We'll have more time to regroup before the next pull."
Damien muttered under his breath, though loud enough for everyone to hear, "Convenient how you say that after the fissure itself just 'happens' to point us that way."
Clara bit her lip. His words stung because they echoed her own suspicion. She remembered the way the fissure had surged, the ground trembling, her hand burning with spirals of heat. In that moment of weakness, she had stumbled—just enough for Evelyn to seize the argument.
And she'd let it happen.
Now, with each step east, she couldn't tell if they were marching by choice or being dragged.
Evelyn shot Damien a glare. "I don't need to justify myself to you. Unless you have a better plan?"
Damien stopped abruptly, turning to face her. His voice was low but cutting. "My better plan is not letting the Architect dictate where we walk. Don't you feel it? That tug? It's not strategy—it's a leash."
The words hit Clara like a stone to the chest. She froze mid-step, because for an instant, she felt it clearly: the invisible thread tightening in her palm, tugging eastward like a whisper of command.
She almost gasped aloud but swallowed it, clenching her fist so hard her nails cut her skin. She couldn't tell them. Not yet.
Evelyn didn't flinch. "And if it is a leash, then maybe tugging along for now keeps us alive. Sometimes survival means walking where the leash pulls, until you find the moment to cut it."
Damien's jaw tightened. He looked as though he might argue further, but then his eyes fell on Clara. She must've looked pale, shaken, because his expression softened. "Clara… you feel it too, don't you?"
She opened her mouth, closed it again. For a heartbeat, Yurin's voice echoed faintly in her mind—not words, not sound, but the impression of him: Do not resist me, Clara. I am the only way you survive.
She wanted to scream at him. To tear the mark from her hand. To tell Damien the truth—that Yurin was behind the pull, not the Architect. That it was him she felt in every step.
But she couldn't. Not when even admitting it aloud seemed like giving Yurin more power.
"…I don't know," she whispered. It was half a lie, half a plea. "I don't know what I feel anymore."
Evelyn cut in before Damien could press. "Then we keep moving. East buys us time, and time is survival." She pushed forward without waiting for agreement.
The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the crunch of their boots and the distant hum of fissures.
Clara walked in the middle, trying to steady her breath. But her pulse betrayed her. Every time she thought of Yurin, the mark burned hotter. Every time she thought of turning back, the tug grew stronger. She didn't know if he was listening in this very moment, pulling her thoughts like strings—or if she was imagining it.
Damien fell back beside her. His voice was quieter now, softer than his usual iron tone. "Clara. If something's wrong—if you feel something you're not saying—you need to tell me. You don't have to carry it alone."
Her throat tightened. For a second, she wanted to trust him. To unload everything and let him share the weight. But then, deep in her bones, the pull whispered again. Don't resist me.
She forced a small, broken smile. "I'll be fine. Really."
Damien didn't look convinced. But he said nothing more.
As the march continued, Clara glanced back once, to the fissure glowing faintly in the distance. The canyon seemed to watch them go, as though aware of their path. For the first time, she wondered if Evelyn was right—that walking with the leash was safer than breaking free.
But if that leash led straight to Yurin…
Her hand trembled again.