Marla sits frozen on my couch, staring at the glittering pile of fallen glass as if it might begin to sing again. She doesn't dare touch it. I can see her fingers trembling against her knees.
Adrian kneels beside me, unseen by her, his glow dimmer but more concentrated. He looks almost human now—flesh-like, though threaded with light beneath the surface.
"Lyra," he murmurs, brushing a thumb along my cheek. The touch sends a soft pulse through the room. "You need to rest."
I flinch away—not because I don't want him close, but because every time he touches me, the resonance tightens like a violin string pulled too taut.
Marla watches me recoil from empty air.Her fear sharpens.Her voice shakes."Lyra… who are you talking to?"
I open my mouth—and something in the resonance shifts. The light around Adrian flickers. His expression sharpens.
"Don't speak," he warns under his breath."The field is listening."
The words send a cold thrill through me.Listening.Waiting.
"Marla," I whisper instead, "you need to leave."
"No."Her voice cracks."I'm not abandoning you again. Not after what I just saw."
Adrian's glow spikes, panicked.
"Lyra—"
But Marla cuts across him."I don't know what you're doing, but you're breaking, Lyra. And I'm not letting you shatter alone."
My vision wavers.For a split second the resonance aligns with Marla's voice—and the air ripples outward from her like a dropped stone in water.
Adrian jerks back, wincing.He clutches his chest, as though something invisible pierces him.
"Adrian!" I reach toward him, instinctive.
But the resonance sharpens instantly, responding to my panic.The entire room tilts—lights flickering, shadows twitching.
Marla gasps. "Lyra, what's happening?!"
Adrian's voice is strained.
"She's affecting the field. Your connection to her… it's too strong."
"She's my friend!"
"And you love her," he says gently. "Just not the way you love me. And love… carries frequency."
The floor under us vibrates.The cracks in the window emit a low hum, spreading their glow across the wall like growing frost.
I suddenly understand.The field reacts to my emotions—but it amplifies through my relationships.Every bond is a signal.
Every love is an opening.
"Marla," I say, "you really have to leave."
She shakes her head. "I'm not running from you."
"This isn't running," I whisper. "It's surviving."
The resonance rises like a storm wind—papers lifting, dust swirling, the piano strings vibrating intensely.
Adrian stands, his glow hardening into a shield-like shimmer.
"Lyra, you must decide who you're protecting."
"I want to protect both of you!"
"That's not an option."
The air splits with a sharp, metallic sound—like a powerline snapping under tension.
A fissure opens in the center of the room.
Not in the floor.Not in the wall.In the air itself.
A jagged line of blackness edged with shimmering blue light.It pulses once—twice—then widens.
Marla screams."What the hell IS THAT?!"
Adrian's eyes widen with horror.
"It came through."
"What came through?" I cry.
"Not me."His glow flickers violently."Not an echo. Something older. Something that wasn't meant to be awakened."
The fissure stretches open, revealing a swirling void of darkness threaded with thin, whispering voices.Voices that sound… nearly human.Nearly familiar.
The resonance around me tightens like a fist.
The voices spill out:
"—Lyra—Lyra—Lyra—"
Marla clutches my arm. "Why is it saying your name?!"
Adrian steps protectively in front of me.His outline stabilizes—thickens—his glow becoming almost armor.
"Because she is the bridge."
The fissure pulses—then a shadowed form pulls itself halfway through.Not humanoid.Not fully formed.Something unfinished, a silhouette made of pure vibration.
Its surface ripples with the same strange geometry I saw in the cracked window earlier.
"Adrian," I whisper, "what is that?"
His answer is quiet, pained, reverent.
"A failed echo."
The creature's shape vibrates, distorting.Its voice is a cracked, broken attempt at understanding sound:
"Lyyy—raaaa—"
Marla stumbles back, collapsing into the wall. "We need to RUN—"
But Adrian holds out a hand.
"If she runs, it chases. If she fights, it grows. If she fears, it feeds."
"Then what's left?" I cry.
He turns to me—eyes unbearably soft.
"You. Choosing."
The fissure widens again—another form crawling through.And another.
The resonance inside me surges.The room spins.My vision blurs.
"Lyra," Adrian says firmly, stepping close.
"Look only at me."
His fingers cup my jaw.My heart slams against my ribs.
"Do you trust me?"
I nod, breathless."I always have."
The echoes shriek—a churning, discordant wail that rattles the furniture.
Adrian pulls me into him.His body is almost solid now—warm, trembling, real.His lips hover a breath from mine.
"Then choose me," he whispers."Choose only me."
Something about the way he says it—like a plea, a prayer, a command—sends a tremor through the resonance.
The room warps.The echoes recoil.The fissure contracts.
Marla shouts, "LYRA—DON'T!"
Her voice fractures the air.
Adrian flinches.His glow dims.The fissure explodes into light.
I'm thrown backward.Something cracks—maybe the floor, maybe reality.
Colors smear across my vision.My ears ring with the resonance's scream.
When I can finally breathe again, I see:
Marla is unconscious on the floor.The echoes have dissolved.The fissure is shrinking, folding inward like a closing wound.
And Adrian—
Adrian is kneeling before me, flickering in and out like a dying flame.
"Adrian," I choke. "No—no, stay, stay—"
He lifts his head.His eyes glow with pain.
"Do you see now?""Every time I come closer to you… something else comes with me."
Tears burn my eyes.I reach for him—my hand passes through him like smoke.He winces as though the contact hurts.
"Adrian, I didn't want this—"
"But you called me."His voice is gentle, mournful."And the field doesn't understand love without consequence."
The fissure shrinks to a thin line of white—then vanishes.
The silence that follows is suffocating.
Adrian's outline flickers wildly.He's fading.
"No," I whisper, grabbing at him helplessly. "I need you—please—"
"If I stay now," he says softly,"the field will tear open again."
"Then let it!"My voice breaks."I don't care what happens—"
He touches my cheek—one last tender, trembling touch.
"Lyra… I care."
And then—He dissolves.
Not into light.Not into dust.
Into silence—a pure, aching silence that feels like the world exhaling after holding its breath too long.
I crumple to the floor beside Marla, shaking, tears spilling onto the cold wood.
The resonance inside me doesn't hum.Doesn't pulse.Doesn't sing.
It waits.
Terrifyingly quiet.
Patient.
As if ready to awaken again the moment I speak his name.
I stare at the empty space where Adrian had been seconds before—my heart twisting, my breath thin.
And a single, agonizing question rises in my mind:
If calling him back risks breaking the world…how long can I resist calling him again?