The iron gates shut behind us with a low, echoing thud.
Sylus's mansion rose ahead—dark stone, towering windows, sharp geometry carved against the flickering skyline. The aftermath of the chain reaction shimmered in the glass like distant wildfire.
Inside, the entrance hall swallowed us in cold marble and cavernous silence. High ceilings. A sweeping staircase. Soft golden light that somehow felt sterile. No staff. No guards. Just emptiness and the faint hum of hidden tech beneath the walls.
Elara walked beside me, her steps slightly unsteady, fingers brushing the cracked Aether Core as though it might vanish if she didn't keep touching it. I eased my breathing—each inhale tugged at my ribs—but stayed close enough to catch her if she swayed.
I waited until the threshold was behind us before asking quietly, "Do you… have a way back to Linkon City?"
Elara blinked, startled. "Oh—yeah. I'll call Xav—"
"You're the only one with safe passage."
Sylus's voice cut in behind us, smooth as polished stone.
We both turned.
He stood just inside the threshold, stormlight crowning him in pale gold. His gaze locked on me—flat, assessing.
"If you attempt to return to Linkon," he continued, "you'll do so at your own risk. I won't guarantee your safety."
The words weren't cruel. They weren't even personal.
Just fact.
Indifference, distilled.
For a heartbeat, I considered ignoring him entirely. Letting the statement pass through me like smoke. Pretending it didn't matter.
But then I saw Elara's face—eyes wide, worry tightening her mouth, fear not for herself but for me. She was already inhaling, ready to defend, to argue, to step between us.
And I couldn't let her do that.
So I answered.
I kept my posture relaxed, my voice steady, and said, "Well, if they follow your lead, they won't see anything worth wasting a bullet on."
Elara sucked in a breath.
Sylus didn't speak.
He didn't flinch.
He didn't glare.
But something in his expression shifted—subtle as a shadow blown by a passing cloud.
Then he stepped forward, passing between us without breaking stride.
"Follow me."
He didn't check if we obeyed. He simply assumed we would.
And, apparently, he was right—because Elara fell into step behind him immediately.
I moved to follow—
The room swayed.
A brief, nauseating tilt as the world pulled itself taut like a wire.
I steadied myself against the wall before anyone could see. The marble was cool beneath my palm; my breathing less so.
Of course.
The adrenaline was finally bleeding out of my system.
Sylus didn't turn. "If you're going to collapse, do it somewhere less inconvenient."
Elara spun toward me. "Diana—"
"I'm fine," I said through my teeth. "Keep walking."
But Sylus had stopped.
He pivoted just enough for the light to catch his eyes—sharp, dissecting, impossibly aware.
His gaze skimmed over the stiffness in my posture, the tension in my jaw, the guarded way I shifted my weight off my ribs.
He said nothing.
But the silence had edges.
Elara moved closer, ready to steady me; I forced myself upright before she could.
Sylus's expression didn't soften.
Didn't darken.
It simply… adjusted.
A minute recalibration behind the eyes—subtle as a blade sliding a fraction deeper into its sheath.
"You've been holding yourself together since the rooftop," he said. "It's no longer entertaining."
I let out something that almost counted as a laugh. "Trust me, the last thing I'm trying to do is entertain you."
His head tilted—not offended, not amused.
Just taking note.
Then he turned away again. "The infirmary is this way."
I didn't remember asking for it.
I didn't think he'd offer.
But he walked as though the decision had already been made.
Elara glanced back at me, worry carved into her brow.
I followed.
Because the truth was, the next time the room tilted…
I wasn't sure I'd be able to hide it.
The infirmary lights flickered on as the door slid open, bathing the room in pale white.
I stepped inside behind Elara, and for a moment the sterile brightness made the world sway. Metal counters. Med cabinets. A single surgical bed. Everything gleaming, untouched.
No staff.
No doctor.
Just emptiness—like the rest of this mansion.
Elara looked around, brow furrowing. "Isn't anyone here?"
Sylus didn't bother stepping fully inside. He leaned against the doorway, one hand braced casually against the frame, gaze sweeping over me like I was something he was cataloguing.
"The doctor is unavailable," he said. "Handle it yourself."
Elara inhaled sharply. "Sylus—she's injured."
He didn't blink. "So she should treat her injuries."
Her jaw clenched. "You brought us here. The least you could—"
"Elara."
Just her name.
Flat.
A warning with no volume behind it.
She fell silent, but her eyes snapped to me—burning with indignation on my behalf.
I forced myself not to sag against the counter. "It's fine," I muttered. "I've patched myself up before."
Sylus's gaze sharpened—briefly—like he was cataloguing that too.
His eyes flicked over the blood on my arm, then rose back to my face, unimpressed.
He stepped aside just enough to clear the doorway.
"Try not to make a mess."
Elara shot daggers at him with her glare.
I exhaled slowly and moved toward the stainless steel counter, bracing myself as my ribs flared like broken glass.
Behind me, Sylus added—almost absently:
"And don't pass out. I'm not carrying you."
I didn't look at him. "Relax. I'm not dying on your floor."
"Good."
The door slid halfway shut.
He paused.
Watched me.
Just a fraction too long—
—as if waiting to see whether I would crumble the moment he turned his back.
Then he left.
The door sealed behind him with a soft hiss.
Silence swelled around us.
Elara turned toward me fully. "He's unbearable."
"Mm." My fingers trembled as I reached for the cabinet. "But he's consistent."
She stepped in, grabbing the first-aid kit before I could. "Let me help."
I started to argue—
Then thought of Sylus's stare, the missing reaction after Elara's awakening, the way his attention had narrowed on me like a targeting reticle.
My shoulders loosened.
"Okay," I whispered. "Yeah. Please."
Elara guided me to sit on the surgical bed, metal cool beneath my thighs. She cracked open the first-aid kit with brisk, shaky hands, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face like that might steady her.
"Hold still," she murmured.
I did.
Mostly.
The antiseptic stung deep enough to make my breath hitch. Elara froze, guilt twisting through her features.
"Sorry—does it hurt?"
"No," I lied. "I just like making dramatic little snake noises."
A small, breathy laugh escaped her—thin but real.
Her voice softened. "Back there… with the Wanderers…"
Her jaw tightened. "You saved me."
"You saved me too."
"That's not the same."
"Why not?"
She didn't answer. She focused on the shards along my ribs, fingers gentle as she worked one free.
"Because I… Diana, I didn't know what I was doing half the time. And you—"
She hesitated.
"You fought like you'd done this before."
I froze.
Just a heartbeat.
She didn't notice; she was too busy blotting the fresh bloom of blood.
But the words—
you fought like you'd done this before—
slid under my skin sharper than any glass shard.
"Instinct," I said quickly. "Anyone would've done the same."
Elara gave me a look—doubtful—but let it drop.
Silence settled between us, thick with antiseptic and exhaustion.
Finally, she whispered, "The vision… it felt like a memory."
I swallowed. "What do you think it means?"
"I don't know." Her eyes lifted to mine, wide and raw. "But Sylus did. He knew exactly what it was."
Yeah.
He did.
And he'd been waiting for it.
"And now everything between us feels… heavier," she murmured.
There was no right answer to that.
So I stayed quiet and let her finish tending the wounds.
After a moment, she asked softly, "How's your memory, by the way?"
I blinked. "My memory?"
"Yeah." She dabbed at another cut. "Do you remember… anything from before the kidnapping?"
The question landed heavier than she intended.
My throat tightened. "I remember enough," I said carefully. "Not much. Just pieces."
She nodded, relieved—though she didn't realize she'd just brushed past a landmine.
We fell into a gentler silence after that. Closer. Warmer.
The door hissed open.
Elara jumped.
I didn't.
The air always shifted before he entered—pressure tightening, temperature dropping by a fraction.
Sylus stepped in, no lazy posture now—only intent. His eyes flicked immediately to me, then to the bloodied gauze in Elara's hand.
"Are you finished?" he asked—not unkind, but not kind either.
"Almost," Elara said.
He nodded once, then turned to me.
"I need a word."
Elara stiffened. "About what?"
Sylus didn't acknowledge her.
His gaze hooked into mine—sharp, probing, calculating.
"I'll wait outside," he said. "Don't take long."
It wasn't a threat.
But the quiet beneath it was.
He stepped out.
The door sealed.
Elara exhaled shakily. "What does he want?"
I didn't answer.
Not because I didn't know—
—but because I did.
He wanted to understand why the resonance didn't deepen.
Why nothing manifested after Elara's awakening.
Why her soul hadn't moved toward him the way it should have.
Why fate's pull had misfired.
Why I had been the only anomaly standing close enough when the story skipped a step.
"I'll handle it," I said, easing off the bed.
Elara caught my wrist, grip tight. "Diana. Be careful with him."
The corner of my mouth twitched—not exactly a smile. More like resigned humor.
"I always am."
I stepped toward the door—
paused—
and heard her whisper behind me:
"Come back."
I turned my head just slightly. "I will."
Then the door slid open.
And Sylus was waiting.