The eastern path was narrower than the others, hemmed in by jagged cliffs that rose like the teeth of some fossilized beast. The light from the fissures painted everything in fractured red, shadows twitching as if alive. Every step was a reminder that the world itself was bleeding.
Clara walked in silence, sand grinding beneath her boots, her hand curled tight around her marked palm. She couldn't shake the sensation that something invisible pressed against her spine, urging her forward. It wasn't Evelyn's command. It wasn't even her own will. It was Yurin—threads pulled in ways no one else could see.
The knowledge made her sick.
Ahead, Evelyn strode with purpose, as if daring the fissures to challenge her authority. Damien lagged slightly behind, his expression stormy. He'd argued less since their last exchange, but the silence wasn't surrender. It was the quiet of a blade held just behind the sheath.
Finally, Damien broke it. His voice was low, but in the narrow canyon, every word carried. "We shouldn't be here. This isn't strategy. It's surrender. You can dress it up as survival all you want, Evelyn, but I won't lie to myself."
Evelyn didn't turn, didn't slow. "And what would you prefer? March back into the fissure's core and die screaming? Survival may look like surrender, but death doesn't negotiate. We're alive, Damien. That's what matters."
Damien's jaw tightened. "Alive, but not free. Tell me, Clara—" He pivoted suddenly, pinning her with his gaze. "—do you honestly feel like we're walking by choice?"
Clara froze mid-step. Her throat closed around the answer she wanted to give. That no, it wasn't choice. That Yurin was pulling them like marionettes and she could feel every thread biting into her veins.
But she couldn't. Saying his name, admitting his grip—it felt like betraying more than herself. Like feeding him through acknowledgment.
She forced a swallow. "…I don't know."
Damien's stare lingered, full of unspoken words. Finally, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Exactly."
Evelyn's patience cracked. She spun on her heel, her braid whipping against her back, eyes burning. "Enough. You want to brood and choke on your pride? Fine. But don't poison Clara with it. She's already carrying more than you realize."
The words sliced sharper than Evelyn intended. Clara flinched, her grip on her palm tightening. More than you realize. Did Evelyn suspect? Did she sense Yurin's hold?
Damien's glare darkened. "And what exactly is she carrying that I don't realize, Evelyn? Or is that just another cryptic line you'll throw at us so we keep following you blind?"
Evelyn stepped forward, unafraid of his size or temper. "You think leading is about democracy? About votes and endless debates? No, Damien—it's about keeping us alive. And if Clara falters, if she hesitates, it's because she feels the fissure worse than we do. Don't you dare use her weakness as your excuse to split us."
Clara wanted to vanish between them. She wanted to shout that she wasn't weak—that the fissure wasn't the only thing inside her—but the words stuck in her chest.
Damien's voice dropped, colder now. "Funny how you keep speaking for her." He turned to Clara again. "So, which is it? Are you going to keep letting Evelyn decide what you feel, or are you going to tell me the truth yourself?"
Clara's heart hammered. The canyon seemed to narrow around her, the fissure's hum vibrating in her bones. She knew she couldn't keep dodging forever. Every silence made the leash pull tighter.
She opened her mouth—
And then the ground beneath them lurched.
A tremor split through the canyon floor, dust cascading from the cliffs above. Ahead, a jagged fissure tore open, glowing with molten red light. It wasn't wide enough to swallow them whole—but the message was clear. Eastward was not just a path. It was a command.
Evelyn steadied herself, eyes flashing. "We move faster."
Damien's expression was thunder. "And you still think this isn't a leash?"
Clara staggered, her marked hand burning like fire. She bit back a scream. Because this time, she didn't just feel the pull—she heard it. A whisper sliding under her skin, deep and calm, unbearably familiar:
Trust me, Clara.
Her breath caught. She swayed on her feet, the words ringing inside her skull. Yurin's presence was closer now, stronger. And the worst part? A sliver of her wanted to believe him.
She stumbled, clutching her arm, and Damien rushed to steady her. His eyes searched hers desperately. "Clara. What did you hear?"
Her lips trembled, but no sound came.
Evelyn's voice cut through the silence like a blade. "Don't ask her. Just move. East is survival."
But Damien wasn't looking at Evelyn anymore. He was staring straight into Clara's trembling eyes. And for the first time, she saw the realization dawning in him.
That it wasn't the fissure whispering to her.
It was Yurin.