Milo gripped the mug so tightly his knuckles hurt.
It felt heavier now—like it was full of gravity instead of liquid.
"I don't think I can do this," he whispered.
"You can," Yara said softly.
"You don't know that."
"I do."She paused."Because the café doesn't choose wrong."
The floor vibrated, faintly at first, then more violently. A jar burst on the upper shelf—glass exploding in a silent flash of blue light.
Yara flinched. "We're running out of time."
The café was unraveling. Milo could see it now—hairline silver cracks across the walls, creeping toward the ceiling. The air rippled like heat waves, bending the room.
The mug in his hand pulsed.
STAY.
OR UNMAKE.
Two meanings.Two paths.
Blue and gold.
"Yara…" Milo whispered. "If I stay—if I become Keeper—what happens to the rest of my life?"
"You lose it," she said honestly.
"And if I rewrite?"
"You lose this."
His throat tightened.
"Do… do you want me to stay?" he asked quietly.
Yara didn't look away.
"Milo," she said, voice low and steady, "I want you safe. I want you alive. I want you in the world where you belong."She swallowed."But I don't want you gone."
The honesty cut deeper than he expected.
The café lights flickered violently.
"Milo!" Yara grabbed his shoulders. "Whatever happens, I won't let you be erased. Do you hear me?"
He nodded weakly.
But the café heard her.
And it disagreed.
A crack split the ceiling above them—sharp, bright, jagged.
Glass rained from a shattered jar, falling in slow motion.
Yara shoved Milo aside just as the floor lurched.
"Milo—choose!"
He raised the mug.
The café roared.
And Milo...