A low rumble vibrated beneath Milo's shoes.
Not an earthquake.Not machinery.Something deeper.
The café groaned like an old ship struggling against a current. The lanterns swung gently, casting light that bent strangely in the air.
Yara grabbed Milo's wrist.
"It's splitting now. It's a choice. If you don't make a decision soon, it will force one."
"Force one how?"
The floorboards answered for her.
A thin glowing line ripped itself across the wooden planks at Milo's feet—a single beam of gold light. Then another, blue and cold, appeared parallel to it.
They pulsed like heartbeats.
Milo stared. "What are these?"
"Fate-paths," Yara whispered. "Golden if you stay… blue if you rewrite."
Milo swallowed. "And if I don't step on either?"
Yara hesitated.She didn't meet his eyes.
"The café will take the choice from you."
"How?"
She finally looked up at him.
"It will collapse around you," she said softly. "And rebuild itself with the Keeper it selects by force. If that happens…" Her voice cracked. "…it may not pick you. You could be erased from its story entirely."
A chill crawled up Milo's spine.
"Erased?"
"Forgotten," she corrected. "By the café. By fate. By this place's memory."
He felt the weight of it.The terror of it.
"Milo—" Yara's voice softened. "I won't tell you what to choose."
"But you want something from me," he said. "I can see it."
Her lips tightened.
"Yes," she whispered."But it doesn't matter. It can't."
The blue path pulsed brighter.The gold path dimmed, as if waiting for him to move.
The café moaned again—boards creaking, lights flickering, jars trembling in harsh, jittering pulses.
"Milo," Yara whispered urgently."You have to decide now."
The golden light warmed his legs.The blue one cooled the air around his feet.
Milo clenched his jaw—and stepped