The silence after Clara's outburst was suffocating. The fire snapped weakly, its flames casting fractured shadows across their faces—shadows that seemed to lean apart instead of together.
Evelyn's arms trembled around Clara, but her voice was steady with desperation. "You're not a risk. You're my sister. You're my family. That hasn't changed. It won't change."
Clara wanted to believe her. She ached to believe her. But she caught the flicker in Damien's eyes, the way his jaw worked as though biting back words, the way his knuckles whitened against the hilt of his blade. Evelyn could promise the world, but Damien's silence screamed louder.
Zeke, of course, broke it first. "She's not wrong."
Everyone turned toward him. His gaze didn't waver, didn't soften, as though he'd been waiting for this moment. "We are thinking it. Every one of us. Clara is a tether. Whether she wants to be or not, whether Yurin twists it or not, the fact remains—she is the doorway. Pretending otherwise is reckless."
"Zeke." Evelyn's voice was ice. "Don't."
"I will," he said flatly. "You cling to sentiment. I deal in survival. And survival demands clarity, Evelyn. If she—" he nodded at Clara, "—slips even once, if Yurin gains more ground, it's over. Not just for her. For us. For everyone."
Clara flinched as though he had struck her. Evelyn immediately shifted, shielding her, fury blazing in her eyes. "You're talking about murdering her like it's an equation."
"It is an equation," Zeke snapped, the mask slipping for once, revealing the steel beneath. "If her life saves hundreds—thousands—it's a cost we can't ignore. Tell me, Evelyn, what's the alternative? Hope? Prayer? Blind loyalty? That isn't a plan. That's suicide."
Damien finally stirred, his hand sliding off the sword but not far. "He's not wrong."
The words landed like a hammer. Evelyn's head whipped toward him, betrayal etched in every line of her face. "You too?"
Damien's expression was carved from stone, but his voice cracked with the weight of it. "Do you think I want to say that? I've lived with hesitation before, Evelyn. It cost me lives I'll never get back. If we ignore the possibility, if we refuse to prepare, then we're condemning ourselves before the fight even begins."
Clara's chest squeezed painfully. She wanted to shout, to scream, to promise she wouldn't fail them—but Yurin's laugh coiled through her skull, mocking.
"Listen to them," he purred. "Do you hear it? The fracture widening? They're drawing lines, Clara. You are the battlefield, and they're choosing where to stand."
Her hands shook. She clamped them together to hide it, but Zeke's eyes flicked toward her—sharp, measuring, as though he'd seen anyway.
"I won't let you touch her," Evelyn hissed. "Neither of you. I swear, if you so much as raise your hand against her, I will burn this forest to ash with you in it."
Damien's jaw tightened. "And if she burns the world first?"
The words ripped the air apart. Evelyn's breath caught. Clara froze. Zeke's silence was an agreement in itself.
The fire guttered low, as if the earth itself recoiled from their division. And in that fragile crack, Yurin pressed harder.
"There it is," he whispered inside Clara's mind, his voice like velvet knives. "They're admitting it. Do you think love can protect you now? Do you think Evelyn's fire is stronger than their doubt? I can give you strength. Enough to silence them all. Enough to prove you are not weak."
"No," Clara whispered aloud, her voice trembling. "I don't want your strength. I don't want you."
Evelyn squeezed her shoulder protectively. Damien's eyes narrowed. Zeke's hand hovered faintly over his glyphs.
The tension was unbearable. They weren't allies in that moment—they were four people standing on a fault line, waiting to see who would step first.
And then the ground beneath them pulsed.
The soil cracked faintly, a thin line of crimson light leaking upward like blood through stone. The air grew heavy, thick, humming with a pressure that pressed against their chests. Clara gasped, clutching her ribs as the pulse inside her body synced with the earth's.
Zeke surged to his feet. "He's testing the tether."
Damien drew his sword, his face grim. "No—he's pushing it."
Evelyn's arms locked tighter around Clara, as if she could hold her together with sheer will. Clara's heart thundered, the alien pulse growing stronger, drowning her own heartbeat.
Yurin's voice was no longer a whisper. It was a roar of temptation. "Do you feel them slipping away from you? Let me in, Clara. Just a little more. Let me carry the burden they never wanted to bear. Then no one can question you again."
She screamed, clutching her chest, falling to her knees as the earth split wider. Crimson light spilled into the night, illuminating the horror on Damien's face, the resolve hardening in Zeke's, the desperate fire blazing in Evelyn's tears.
And for a heartbeat—for one terrible, beautiful heartbeat—Clara felt herself leaning toward the voice.
Toward him.