The safehouse was nothing more than an abandoned textile warehouse on the edge of Lower Market—
broken looms, dust-choked aisles, the stink of mold and forgotten lives.
But it had something we hadn't had since the escape:
A door we could close.
Lira kicked it shut behind us and slid all seven bolts into place.
"Sit," she ordered.
Nobody argued.
The survivors collapsed onto crates, pipes, anything that wasn't wet or sharp.
I stayed standing.
I didn't trust my legs.
The fractures along my ribs were glowing too bright—
a slow, pulsing gold that throbbed like a fever heartbeat.
The kid looked up at me, terrified.
"K-17… you gon' blow up or something?"
I didn't answer.
Because the Crown answered for me.
A ringing sound cut through my skull—
sharp, cold, merciless.
Then the whisper:
"Judgment made.
Cost due.
Sanity… taken."
I staggered.
My vision splintered.
The warehouse walls twisted, bending inward like melting glass.
Voices echoed behind my ears—
not real, not human.
Something ancient, talking in a language I wasn't built to understand.
The Sanity Tax hit like a blade to the brain.
A memory snapped loose.
Then another.
Then—
No.
Not memories.
Pieces of me.
Thoughts.
Instincts.
Temper.
Gone.
The world swam.
Someone grabbed my shoulder.
"K-17. Look at me."
Lira.
I blinked hard and she came into focus—
hair wild from running, cheeks flushed, eyes burning like she'd swallowed a star and dared it to hurt her.
"What happened?" she said.
Her voice wasn't soft.
It wasn't gentle.
It was a command.
A lifeline wrapped in steel.
"The Crown…" I rasped. "Took something."
"What?"
"I don't know."
My hand shook.
I hated it.
She stepped in front of me, invading my space until her breath hit my chest plating, warm and furious.
"Don't shut down now," she growled. "Tell me what it took."
"I said I don't know."
"That's not an answer."
"I can't tell what's missing!" I shouted.
The survivors flinched.
Lira didn't.
She stepped even closer—
close enough that if I breathed any hotter, I'd scorch her.
"Then you damn well better figure it out," she whispered. "Because out there? You almost turned into something you couldn't come back from."
Her hand rose—
hovered near my jaw, inches from touching the molten cracks.
She didn't pull back.
"You scared the hell out of me," she said.
That hit harder than any bullet.
I swallowed.
"It wasn't me."
"I know."
She took a breath.
"But it was you enough."
The fractures pulsed again—
bright, angry gold.
My heartbeat synced with it.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Her eyes dropped to the glow on my throat.
She whispered, "You're burning up."
"I'm holding it."
"Barely."
"No."
I leaned closer.
"Completely."
Our foreheads nearly touched.
Her breath hitched.
Not much.
Just enough.
And deadass—
the Crown reacted.
My shadow split behind me—
not fully—
just a flicker of the beast's jagged silhouette.
Lira saw it out of the corner of her eye.
She didn't step back.
Instead, she grabbed my fractured arm—
the mutated one—
fingers digging between molten cracks like she didn't care if it burned.
"Don't lose yourself," she said.
Not a plea. A threat.
"I'll drag you back even if it scorches me."
The fractures dimmed.
The beast retreated.
My chest loosened like someone unclenched a fist around my heart.
I exhaled—
steam curling from my lips.
She didn't let go.
Her fingers trembled once—
and she hid it by tightening her grip.
"You okay?" she murmured.
"No," I said.
"Not even close."
She didn't smile.
But something in her eyes shifted—
soft, sharp, dangerous.
"Good," she whispered.
"Keeps you real."
Behind us, the survivors pretended not to stare.
The kid muttered under his breath,
"Bro… she got him by the soul."
Lira shot him a glare so deadly he shrank into a crate.
Then she returned to me.
"We rest here until nightfall," she said, stepping back.
"But tomorrow… you're telling me everything. No more hiding what's inside you."
I nodded.
But as she walked toward the others, the Crown stirred again—
a small, vicious whisper curling through my skull:
"She steadies you…
but she will cost you.
All things do."
I ignored it.
For now.