I woke before either of them.
The room was quiet—too quiet—and for a moment I didn't know why. Lira was curled against my shoulder, breathing deep and steady, her hand loosely resting near my collarbone.
Seris was at my back again, one arm draped around my waist protectively, her forehead resting between my shoulder blades.
She was looking so cute while sleeping, I gently touched her cheeks and mine down towards her lips.
She is so damm cool, whole arguing and sleeping. I couldn't hold back any longer I gave her gentle her while she was asleep.
We were tangled together in a way that would have felt strange only days ago.
Now, it felt necessary.
But something else felt different.
The fracture wasn't silent.
It was… humming.
Not painfully, not violently—just lightly alive beneath my ribs, like a faint vibration under my skin. I breathed in slowly, testing whether it reacted to my awareness.
It did.
A gentle pulse in answer.
Lira stirred faintly and murmured something against me, her face soft, peaceful. Seris shifted slightly behind me, her arm tightening with instinctive protectiveness, even in sleep.
The bond warmed.
And something inside the fracture warmed back.
I swallowed hard.
"Arin."
A voice—not in the room, not outside, but inside—soft as a breath against the inside of my skull.
Not cold this time. Not demanding.
Almost human.
Seris jolted awake instantly, hand gripping my waist. "What? What happened?"
Lira's eyes blinked open, hazy with sleep. "Arin?"
I tried to speak, but the voice whispered again.
"Not fear."
Two simple words—soft, fragile.
Lira inhaled sharply, sensing the bond shift. "It's speaking again?"
I nodded. "Inside."
Seris sat up in one fluid motion, half in front of me, half ready to fight an enemy she couldn't see. "What is it saying?"
I closed my eyes.
Listened.
The fracture pulsed faintly.
"Not alone."
Lira covered her mouth with her hand, eyes wide. "It… feels the bond."
Seris clenched her fists. "That doesn't make this less creepy."
I exhaled. "It's not attacking."
"That doesn't mean we trust it." Seris's voice was sharp.
But even she hesitated.
Because the tone wasn't predatory.
It sounded almost…
lost.
I pressed a hand against my chest, over the fracture. "What do you want?"
A long silence.
Then—
"…remember…"
Lira squeezed my hand immediately. "No. Not like this. Not alone."
Seris's voice dropped to a growl. "If it tries to drag you in again, I'll pull you out myself."
The fracture pulsed—quick, uncertain.
Almost afraid of them.
I felt it.
It feared being shut out.
"Listen," I murmured, speaking inside rather than with my voice. "They're with me."
A long pause…
then a softer pulse.
It wasn't trying to separate us.
It was trying to understand us.
Seris stared at me, eyes narrowing. "Arin… what exactly is it doing?"
I searched for the right words. They came slowly, quietly.
"It's… listening."
Lira went still. "To what?"
"To us."
---
We didn't move for a long time.
Lira finally spoke, voice trembling. "Halin needs to know."
Seris nodded, jaw tight. "We tell her everything."
I hesitated.
Because something in that moment didn't feel dangerous.
It felt like the beginning of something shifting inside the fracture that none of us had words for yet.
But I nodded anyway. "We'll tell her."
Lira pressed her forehead briefly to mine, eyes soft but worried. "Promise?"
I whispered back, "I promise."
Seris exhaled sharply, tension slowly leaving her shoulders. "Fine. But you're not leaving our sight until we talk to her."
Lira murmured, "Maybe not even after that."
I smiled, just a little. "I wasn't planning to."
And right then, the bond pulsed again— soft, warm, alive.
And the fracture pulsed back.
Not in opposition.
In answer.
We didn't go to Halin right away.
Part of me knew we should—responsibility, danger, procedure—but there was something about the moment we were in that felt fragile enough to break if I moved too quickly.
Lira sensed my hesitation immediately. She always did. "Arin," she whispered, "you don't have to say everything out loud right now."
Seris crossed her arms, but she didn't argue. Not this time. "We'll tell her. But first you have to breathe."
I let out a slow breath I didn't remember holding. "It didn't feel like an intrusion."
"That's what worries me," Seris muttered.
Lira shifted closer, her hand lightly touching the side of my face—never pushing, just offering contact. "What did it feel like?"
"…like someone reaching toward a door they're afraid to open."
Seris froze. "Afraid?"
I nodded. "That's the strangest part. It didn't feel like something powerful trying to dominate me. It felt… hesitant."
Lira's eyes softened. "Like a memory trying not to hurt."
Seris wasn't convinced. "Or like something trying to trick you."
I turned to her. "I don't think it knows how to trick anyone. I think it only knows how to reach."
Seris frowned—but it wasn't anger. It was worry disguised as irritation. "Reaching doesn't make it safe."
"No," I agreed. "It just makes it lost."
That silence afterward wasn't heavy this time—it was thoughtful.
Lira leaned gently against my shoulder, her voice low. "Arin, listen to me. You don't have to fix its loneliness by sacrificing your own."
Seris nodded, surprisingly quiet. "You're ours before you're its."
Those words hit incredibly deep.
Ours.
Not possession.
Not ownership.
Belonging.
I swallowed hard, voice rough. "I know."
Lira tilted her head slightly, studying me with an expression that made my chest ache. "You don't have to carry every broken piece alone."
"Even if that piece used to belong to someone else," Seris added, softer than I'd ever heard her say anything.
The fracture pulsed faintly.
For just a second, I felt something like confusion—like the echo inside didn't understand the kind of tenderness surrounding me now.
Like it had never learned what being held actually meant.
Lira's fingers curled around mine slowly. "Do you think it understands us?"
"I think," I said quietly, "it's trying."
Seris looked down at our hands, her voice low but certain. "Then it better learn fast. Because we're not letting go of you."
Lira smiled softly. "Ever."
I looked at them—one gentle, one fierce—and felt something inside me shift, quiet and warm and new.
The fracture pulsed again— not in fear, not in warning, but like a heartbeat syncing itself to ours.
This time, I didn't pull away.
I let it listen.