Darkness arrived differently here.
Selene felt it settle not in the sky, but within herself. The quiet had weight now—thicker, heavier. Her thoughts no longer scattered. They circled a single truth she would never voice, yet could not escape.
Everything had stabilized after the exchange.
That was what made it dangerous.
Once, chaos dictated survival. Decisions came sharp and fast, driven by instinct alone. There was no room for reflection then. No space for feeling. Now—now there was too much of it. Questions crept in softly. Desire followed, unwelcome and persistent.
She closed the balcony doors without a sound.
The estate slept beneath low lights and distant patrols, far enough away to let secrecy feel possible. It wasn't real safety—but illusion had its uses.
Kieran stood at the railing, his back to her, city lights outlining his frame in broken gold. He didn't turn when she approached.
"You're awake," he said eventually.
"I could say the same," Selene replied.
Silence stretched between them before he faced her.
"You keep doing that," he said.
"Doing what?"
"Moving without sound," he answered. "Like you've stopped fighting the world—and learned how to pass through it."
Her gaze stayed steady on him. Measuring. Guarded.
"I'm changing how I move," she said.
He nodded once, accepting it without pushing further. That restraint unsettled her more than suspicion ever could. Kieran knew when not to ask—and that made him dangerous in ways even he didn't realize.
They stood side by side, close enough to feel warmth, distant enough to pretend it meant nothing.
"You unsettled Julian today," Kieran said quietly.
A faint smile curved her lips. "Good."
"No," he corrected. "Fear fades. Uncertainty doesn't."
She glanced at him. "You sound surprised."
"I am."
The word lingered longer than it should have.
"You're not the woman I met," he continued. "But you're not acting either. That's what troubles me."
Her pulse quickened. He stood too close to the truth.
She couldn't tell him.
She wouldn't.
"People change when they stop surviving," she said instead.
His expression softened. "And start living?"
"Or start choosing," Selene replied.
Their gazes locked.
For one reckless moment, the truth nearly escaped her—the exchange, the mirrored life, the woman wearing her face somewhere beyond reach.
The words rose—
And died.
If she spoke them, everything would fracture. Not just the illusion—but the fragile safety they'd built around each other.
Kieran stepped closer. Still no touch. He never crossed boundaries without invitation.
"You don't have to carry it alone," he said.
Her throat tightened.
"I know," she whispered. "That's why I don't."
Miles away, Amara stood before a mirror that reflected a stranger.
Selene's face stared back—calm, unreadable, sharpened by restraint.
Power came easily now.
That frightened her more than resistance ever had.
A knock sounded.
Darius entered without waiting. He hadn't asked permission in days.
"They're regrouping," he said. "Quietly. The factions you destabilized are recalibrating."
"So soon?" Amara asked.
"They underestimated you," he replied. "They won't again."
She studied him. "And you?"
A pause—brief, but telling.
"I'm recalibrating too."
She stepped closer, not threatening, not intimate. Just present.
"You don't trust me," she said.
"I trust your outcomes," Darius answered. "I'm still learning the person behind them."
Fair.
"If you expect cruelty," she said, "you'll be disappointed."
"I'm not," he replied. "I'm waiting for conviction."
Their eyes held.
"You won't always agree with my choices," Amara said.
"I don't need to," he answered. "I need to know you won't destroy the world to prove you can."
Her smile was neither cold nor kind—only honest.
"I won't," she said. "Because I remember what it means to be powerless."
Something shifted in his expression—respect, edged with caution.
"You aren't anymore," he said.
"No," she agreed. "But I remember."
Sleep found neither of them that night.
Selene stared at the ceiling, Kieran's presence lingering like a promise she refused to name.Amara watched dawn creep across unfamiliar walls, mercy resting in her hands like a blade she knew how to wield.
Neither knew what the other was doing.
Yet both felt it—the pull. The echo.
Even the space between worlds seemed to pause, waiting.
Because what is buried never stays silent forever.
And when truth decides to rise—
It never asks permission.