He remembered the skate track. Orenji's casual question—Do you do sports?—and his own muttered answer.
"Not really. Used to run," Kael had muttered, as if the words weren't worth the breath. "Nothing serious."
Then, quieter, almost to himself:
"Sometimes you run without knowing where you're going. You just… move. And when you stop, it's somewhere you don't recognize. Somewhere you didn't choose."
Another memory bled in, this one from the curbside with Orenji.
"I… was scared," he'd admitted, his voice breaking in the dark. "Scared it'd happen again. That I'd lose control. That I'd become something I couldn't come back from."
He remembered the attack on Foundation personnel, how he hadn't been there so much as watching, locked in the passenger seat of his own body, forced to see it commit terrible things. He remembered the desperate measures he'd forced upon himself: taping the door shut, chaining himself to an air vent on the rooftop, circling his sleeping spot with sand so he could tell if he'd moved during the night or not. All of it, every small, humiliating precaution, was to make sure that she never got the wheel again.
And yet… he remembered the alley. He remembered Sean and his gang. More importantly, he remembered her return. The cold, smug certainty with which she slid into him like she'd never left, leaving him a silent witness again.
Every step he had taken, every wall he had built, was meant to stop this one moment.
But it had come anyway.
And now—he was staring straight at her.
****
The shift came without warning. Air thinned. Sounds fell away as soon as he drank the substance.
When his vision cleared, a throne loomed before him.
It wasn't carved, it was built. A jagged pile of femurs, ribs, and skulls fused together into something both terrifying and royal. The empty eye sockets seemed to stare at him, each one a silent witness to the figure sitting at the top.
Amira Solem.
She sat on the throne like it was the most comfortable chair in the world, one leg crossed over the other, her chin propped against the back of her hand. Her smirk was infuriating, part mocking, part inviting and her eyes shone with the calm confidence of someone who had never feared the person standing before her. She looked less like a ruler presiding over her court and more like a predator toying with the animal that had wandered into her territory.
Kael's voice came out low, carrying the weight of suspicion. "What is this?"
Her smirk twitched wider, as though she'd been waiting for that exact question. "Not the real world."
His eyes narrowed, measuring her. "Then where?"
"Inside," she said, her fingers making a slow, dismissive sweep through the air. "A place your cowardly spirit hides when the outside gets too dangerous. Your body's… working through the substance you've taken in. I separated your mind from the noise so we could talk."
The throne room wasn't real, not in the way stone and sky were real. It was her space, their space, an internal stage where both of them could meet without the chaos clawing at the world outside. Most people liked to imagine the mind as an empty darkness, or perhaps a gallery of scattered memories. For Kael, it was different. This was a dominion built brick by brick from Amira's will. The cracked marble beneath his boots, the towering bone pillars that cast long, cold shadows, the air thick with the faint metallic scent of blood he knew well, all of it existed because she wanted it to.
Kael blinked, a muscle in his jaw tightening. "Talk? About what?"
"The truth," she said simply. "About you. About me, the soul inside you."
His shoulders stiffened. "That's not possible."
"Possible or not," she said, tilting her head with a feline sort of patience, "here we are."
A beat of silence passed, heavy enough to be felt.
"So why now?" he asked.
Her gaze sharpened, threading pity with something far colder. "Because this is probably the only face-to-face we'll get for a long time. And I wanted you to see where the truth lives." She leaned forward just enough for the shadows to shift across her cheekbones, her eyes never leaving his. "Me."
The air between them felt heavier now, the bone throne looming like a warning. "You're late by the way," she added, as though even the seconds of his arrival belonged to her.
Kael's jaw tightened. "Didn't know I was supposed to be on your clock."
"You weren't. I set the schedule. You broke it." Her smirk deepened. "That's my time you've taken."
"Your time?" Kael's voice roughened, his hands curling into fists as he stepped forward. "You've been hogging my body for who knows how long, while I'm stuck in the dark with nothing but your voice to keep me company. I'd say you're the one stealing from me."
Her eyes lit with a slow, delighted amusement. "So… we're thieves of each other's lives. Interesting."
"Not really," Kael said coldly. "Only one of us is walking away with it."
That made her laugh. It was a low, unhurried sound, "And you think it's you?"
"Poor thing," she purred, tilting her head. "The cockroach doesn't like the cupboard?" Her voice dropped colder. "And since when do pests willingly crawl under the boot?"
Kael's pulse kicked hard in his throat. "I'm not here for your games."
The air grew heavier, pressing in like invisible hands. Even the silence between her words seemed to hum with the reminder: you're a guest here.
"This is my head too, you know," he said finally, "You don't get to act like you own it."
Her smirk thinned into something cruel. "Don't I? Look around, Kael."
He did, even though every instinct told him not to. The throne, carved from something that might once have been bone. The shattered statues, their faces worn smooth as if they'd been erased from history. The walls themselves breathing with a faint skeletal pulse, as though this place was alive and aware of him. No, this wasn't his.
But admitting that meant surrender, and he'd already bled too much ground to her.
"Enough talking," he bit out, his tone sharper than a drawn blade. Kael lunged, putting all his frustration, fear, and fury into the movement.
She didn't rise from the throne. She didn't need to.
Her form blurred, and in a motion so effortless it felt rehearsed, she stepped aside. Her fingertips brushed his shoulder. It was light as ash, yet the touch burned with mockery.
"Close," she whispered near his ear. The sound was soft enough to be mistaken for kindness, and cruel enough to strip the air from his lungs. "But close doesn't win."
Kael stumbled past her, the weight of the room pressing harder now, like even the walls were laughing at him.
He gritted his teeth. This wasn't just about fighting, it was about control. Every move he made in here, every slip, every misstep, bled into the body they shared outside. And right now, she was making it clear that she could take the reins whenever she wanted.
Kael pivoted into a low strike, aiming for her ribs. She stepped aside without looking, her cloak brushing his arm. He spun, tried a grab but found nothing. She slipped out of reach like water spilling through his fingers.
"Are you even trying," she asked with infuriating sweetness, "or is this your best?"
His pulse hammered in his ears. He feinted left, swung right, but she was already gone, circling him like a cat circling a mouse.
"You're predictable," she said, dodging another blow, not even winded. "Every movement telegraphs your next one."
He forced a sharp breath through his teeth. "Keep underestimating me. See where it gets you."
"I'm not underestimating you," she said flatly, sidestepping another blow. "I'm merely measuring the coffin."
That was when he baited her. He let his body lean too far into a punch, just enough for her to glide into the space he wanted her in. His foot swept upward, catching her off-balance for a fraction of a second. It was all he needed.
His fist shot forward on instinct and connected, square on her cheek.
The sound was sharp, the recoil real. For half a second, Kael froze, his eyes wide.
"Oh… crap," he blurted, his voice cracking with shock. "I just punched a girl in the face."
Amira turned back toward him slowly, her smirk gone. Her gaze was winter. "And?"
"I mean—uh—it's not like I— I don't usually—" He stumbled over his own voice. "It just… happened!"
She stepped closer, tilting her head just slightly. "Do you want me to apologize for making it easy for you?"
"No—no, that's not—"
"Good." Her voice was ice now. "Because now, I don't have to pretend you're worth keeping alive."
The throne of bones creaked as she stood fully, rolling her shoulders. Her movements were slow and deliberate, like a predator done playing with it's food. And this time, she wasn't dodging.
This time, she was coming for him.