The walk back to Liza's house was a blur of shadows and exhaustion. The rain had stopped, leaving the streets slick and reflecting the neon glare of the city like a shattered mirror. I carried Liza princess-style, her head resting against my shoulder, her breathing shallow but steady. She was out cold, her body limp with a fatigue that mirrored my own.
Every step was a negotiation with gravity. My muscles, which had been singing with the System's power just an hour ago, were now screaming in protest. My ribs ached with a dull, throbbing rhythm that matched my heartbeat.
But I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.
The alleyway, the Doctor, the twisted mindscape—it all felt like a fever dream. But the weight of Liza in my arms was real. The smell of ozone and burnt sugar clinging to her clothes was real. The lingering, phantom sensation of the Soul Bind, a ghostly thread connecting my heart to hers, was very, very real.
