They did not notice her at first.
That was the mistake.
The grove had gone quiet again after the tree withdrew its roots, the silence thick and uneasy, like the pause between thunder and rain. Chukwuemeka helped Sadiq to his feet, both of them exhausted, both pretending they were stronger than they felt.
"Tonight is over," Chukwuemeka said. "For now."
Sadiq nodded, though his eyes kept drifting back to the tree. Even without speaking, it felt present, aware, like a living thing holding its breath.
They turned to leave.
That was when the twig snapped.
Not loud. Just enough.
Chukwuemeka froze.
Slowly, he raised a hand, signaling Sadiq to stop. His heart thudded painfully against his ribs. He knew that sound. He had heard it years ago, before screams, before blood, before denial.
Someone else was there.
"Come out," Chukwuemeka said quietly. "Before it decides for you."
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Then a figure stepped out from behind one of the broken palm trees at the edge of the grove.
It was a girl.
She couldn't have been more than sixteen. Slim, barefoot, her wrapper torn at the hem. Her hair was loosely braided, but half of it had come undone, as if she had been running for a long time.
Her eyes were wrong.
Not glowing. Not possessed.
Just… too calm.
"I heard voices," she said.
Sadiq stiffened.
"Go home," he said quickly. "This place is not—"
"I know," the girl interrupted softly. "That's why I came."
Chukwuemeka felt cold spread through his stomach.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Amara," she replied.
The tree stirred.
Just slightly.
Not in anger.
In recognition.
Sadiq noticed it too. "It's reacting to her."
Amara took a step forward.
"Please don't shout," she said. "It doesn't like noise."
Chukwuemeka's breath caught.
"You can hear it," he said. It wasn't a question.
Amara nodded.
"I've been hearing it since I was small," she said. "But today… today it spoke clearly."
The ground beneath the tree shifted, pleased.
She listens well, the voice murmured, no longer bothering to hide.
Sadiq felt anger flare. "You said I was the only one!"
The voice responded gently.
There is never only one.
Chukwuemeka stepped between Sadiq and the girl.
"Amara," he said carefully, "what did it say to you?"
She hesitated, then spoke in a low voice.
"It said I was chosen too," she admitted. "That I was strong enough to carry pain without breaking. That I didn't run from ugly truths."
Sadiq laughed bitterly. "That's what it does."
Amara shook her head.
"No," she said. "That's what people do. It just says it out loud."
The words hung between them.
Chukwuemeka studied her face. There was no madness there. No fear either.
That was worse.
"Why didn't you tell anyone?" he asked.
She looked away.
"Who would believe me?" she said. "They didn't believe the boy. They buried his screams with excuses."
Sadiq flinched.
She had been watching longer than they thought.
The wind picked up, rustling the leaves above them. The tree's bark creaked, opening slightly again.
Two vessels, the voice said. Two paths.
Chukwuemeka's jaw tightened.
"No," he said firmly. "You don't get to multiply your prisons."
The roots stirred, brushing the surface like fingers tapping impatiently.
I am tired of being alone, the voice replied. And you know what happens when I am abandoned.
Images flashed in all their minds at once.
The village burning. Children missing. The ground opening beneath homes. Bones wrapped in roots.
Amara gasped but did not turn away.
Sadiq clenched his fists. "You're threatening us."
I am reminding you, the voice said.
Chukwuemeka felt the weight of it press down on him. This was how it won. Not through force, but through fear of consequence. Through the quiet question: What if you refuse and others suffer?
Amara stepped closer to Sadiq.
"I don't want to replace you," she said softly. "But maybe… maybe we don't have to do this the way it wants."
The tree went still.
Too still.
Chukwuemeka's heart raced.
"That thought is dangerous," he said. "It hears rebellion as hunger."
Amara met his eyes.
"Or as challenge," she replied.
The ground trembled suddenly, harder this time. A root shot out of the soil, slamming down inches from Amara's feet.
The voice darkened.
Careful, child.
She didn't move.
"You said you were never evil," she said calmly. "So stop acting like it."
Sadiq stared at her in shock.
Chukwuemeka felt something twist painfully in his chest.
Brave words.
Reckless ones.
The tree's branches shuddered, leaves raining down.
For a moment, Chukwuemeka thought it would kill her.
Instead, the voice laughed.
Not loud.
Satisfied.
Interesting, it said. Very interesting.
The pressure eased again.
The root withdrew.
Chukwuemeka exhaled shakily.
"That," he said quietly, "was a test."
Amara turned to him. "Did I fail?"
He shook his head.
"No," he said. "You passed."
Sadiq looked between them, realization dawning.
"It's not choosing one of us," he said slowly. "It's watching who breaks first."
The tree hummed softly.
Neither confirmed nor denied.
The night deepened around them, and Chukwuemeka knew something irreversible had happened.
The secret was no longer held by one child.
Or two.
And once a curse learns it can spread…
It always does.