Twelve
Kael waits in the corridor just outside my room while I change shirts. His arms are folded, his body still but vibrating with impatience. I want to thank him for being there, for allowing me to break. But the words never come.
The Mother Shard’s magic permeates the air, crawling under my skin like it always does. I barely notice it anymore.
“You’re really something, you know,” Kael says after a long silence. His eyes stay fixed on the far end of the hall.
I laugh without humour, a rough bark that catches in my throat. “I don’t think Theon would agree.”
He tuts loudly, his disapproval plain. “You cannot save everyone. In fact, you should be doing quite the opposite.”
I shake my head. I want to ask him if he truly believes I’m capable of such a thing, but I don’t know that I wish to hear the answer.
In any case, I already know that I am. Accident or otherwise.
That killing power still lives within me, although I intend to keep it buried. Forever, if I have any say in it.
I watch the way his jaw tightens when I don’t respond, how the darkness just behind his eyes seems to writhe and shift even when he is at rest. Something in him feels contained rather than calm, even now, and I realise with some certainty that I am not afraid of it.
Maybe I should be. Instead, it almost excites me.
The silence stretches again as I close the door behind me and join Kael in the corridor. I’m about to say something—anything, just to fill the space—when Lyssandra comes around the corner.
She moves towards me like a hunter closing in for the kill. Her hair is unbound, rippling down her back and catching the light. She looks beautiful, despite the fury in her eyes.
She stops just shy of us, and for the briefest moment, I think she is going to combust from the force of her own restraint.
She doesn’t speak at first. She just continues to stare, breathing hard through her nose. When the words come, they’re aimed solely at me—sharp, decisive, and poised to wound.
“You have taken from me,” she says.
It takes me a couple of seconds to consider what she might mean. “I’m sorry?”
“You have taken from me,” she repeats. “You and your stubbornness. You robbed me of my choice, my autonomy.”
I flinch as if struck. I want to defend myself; I almost tell her I did it for her, but the words taste like self-righteousness before they can even leave my mouth.
“How can you expect me to stand back and watch you all die?”
Lyssandra’s whole body recoils. Her eyes glaze over with rage, but her voice, when she speaks again, is steady and precise.
“We do not fear death,” she says. “We wait our whole lives for the chance to face it. You may think you know better, but you have no idea what it means to raise yourself for sacrifice. You think martyrdom is some sort of currency you can trade in to save us all, but you’re only making the debt larger. ”
Kael straightens, shifting just enough to make his presence feel like a threat.
Lyssandra looks him up and down, her contempt plain. Her attention swings back to me as she raises her palm, slow and deliberate, before smacking it across my face.
I don't raise a hand to stop her. Maybe I deserve it.
The sound is a perfect slap, crisp and echoing in the empty corridor.
Kael moves before I even register the pain.
It stings so much that my vision blurs, but I don’t react. I just stand there and take it.
Kael already has one hand clamped around her wrist, the other ready to break something. His voice is low and dangerous. “Touch him again and I will remove that hand from your body, Lyssandra.”
For a second, I think she’s going to spit in his face. Instead, she wrenches her hand free and takes a step back, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ears.
“He does not require your protection,” she says, her tone now filled with a sadness that catches me off guard. “None of us do. We’re here to die. That’s what our faith demands. Your attempts to delay the inevitable are pointless and painful.”
“Maybe I want to delay it,” I say, my voice shaking but defiant. “Maybe I believe our lives are worth more than this.”
Lyssandra rounds on me.
“You don’t even know what you want, Luceris. You say you don’t want to be the reason for anyone else’s pain. But you can’t have it both ways.”
She lets out a wet laugh, perilously close to tears.
“What happens when someone comes for Marissa or Kael, and your light isn’t enough? Will you kill then? Saving one person only kills someone else, whichever way you spin it.”
“That’s enough,” Kael snaps, his voice on the verge of a roar.
Lyssandra simply tuts and crosses her arms. “Do not deny me my choice again, Luceris. It is not up to you.”
I want to argue. I want to tell her that being raised for sacrifice isn't the same thing as choosing it. But all that comes out is a strangled, “I’m sorry.”
She softens, just a little. “We are here now. We were chosen. We have this opportunity to choose for ourselves,” she says. “The current carries all things eventually. Fighting it only makes the drowning uglier.”
I don’t know how to respond. I can feel Kael’s hand on my shoulder.
Lyssandra watches the contact, her lips curling in the smallest, saddest smile. “The light and the dark,” she says, softer now. “I wonder which will win in the end.”
She turns and walks away, her posture bristling with leftover anger.
Kael lets out a long, shuddering breath. “I liked her better when she was praying.”
I let out a weak laugh. “I don't know what to say.”
He squeezes my shoulder again, just once. “You made a choice you could live with.”
I want to believe him, but I’m not sure what I believe anymore.
I wander the halls of the Embrace alone, searching for Marissa.
I find her before I find the words to comfort her. She’s folded into herself in a shadowed alcove off the main hall, arms hugging her knees, a child hiding in plain sight. I try to approach quietly, but she looks up the moment I cross the threshold.
Her eyes are red and swollen, the skin around them puffy and tender. She blinks at me, exaggeratedly, as though she can’t believe I’m real.
“I’m sorry,” she says, voice brittle and raw. “I just—I need to be alone for a second.”
I don’t believe her, but I don’t say so. I sit down beside her, our shoulders almost touching, and wait for her to start talking.
She doesn’t.
I run my fingers along the gaps in the stone floor. “Do you want to talk about it?” I finally ask, making my voice as gentle as I can.
She shakes her head, then changes her mind, nodding.
“I can’t believe Callen left us. He told me he would look out for me. But he left us—he left me. I thought he meant it when he said those things, you know? But when it mattered, he wasn’t there.”
I try to think of something reassuring, but after everything we've seen, the words feel empty.
“Maybe he was scared,” I offer. “I don’t think anyone here is as brave as they pretend to be.”
She gives a small laugh. “I think he’s just ashamed. He said some horrible things to you. He didn't even apologise.”
She wipes her nose on her sleeve and looks directly at me. “At least you’re not pretending to be something you’re not.”
I open my mouth to protest, but she cuts me off. “Don’t. I know what you’re going to say. But you’re wrong. You are the bravest person here.”
I look away, my throat tightening.
Footsteps echo down the hall, and for a second, I think it’s an Overseer come to revel in our misery. But it’s Callen.
He stands at the threshold of the alcove, broad-shouldered and backlit, so his face is lost in shadow, his pale blue eyes a dull grey.
He doesn't move to join us. He just stands there, arms crossed, his whole body radiating discomfort.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he says, voice grainy.
“Well,” Marissa answers, not bothering to conceal her annoyance. “You’ve found me.”
He shifts, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I just wanted to say sorry. For before.”
“For which part?” she snaps. “For leaving us on our own back there, or for letting me believe that you cared?”
Callen winces. “I do care,” he says, but quieter now. “I just—I couldn’t—”
“Couldn’t what?”
She rises to her feet, her tiny frame shaking.
“You promised you'd protect me,” she says. “Did that suddenly stop mattering because of him?”
His face turns slack, eyes darting to me for just a second before settling on something behind me. “It’s not that,” he says, but the lie is brittle.
Marissa’s shoulders deflate and she lets out a sob so small I barely hear it.
“Go away, Callen,” she says. “You’re a coward.”
“I’m—sorry,” he says as he turns and walks off down the hall. He almost says something else but thinks better of it.
After he’s gone, Marissa stands frozen, fists balled at her sides, breathing fast and shallow.
I place a hand on her shoulder. She doesn't pull away, but she doesn't lean into the gesture either.
“What if I can’t do this?” she asks, but it’s so soft I have to bend to hear it.
“You can,” I say, wishing I sounded more convincing. “You already are.”
Her voice is small, teetering on the edge. “I don’t think it will be enough.”
She leaves me there, disappearing around the corner and vanishing into the maze of corridors. I let her go. Nothing I could say would make this better.
Kael finds me in the silence after, emerging from the shadows like he was hiding in them the whole time. He stands a few paces away, his face unreadable.
“Did he hurt you?” he asks.
“No,” I answer, but it comes out too quick.
He cocks his head, then shrugs. “If you say so.”
He lingers for a moment longer, eyes locked on my face, searching for something I’m not willing to give.
Then he, too, walks away.
I am left alone in the alcove, the dim light suddenly throbbing in time with my headache. The air feels thick, each breath a conscious effort.
Why do I feel like everyone’s lives are in my hands?
I drift through the Embrace until my thoughts go quiet, too drained to do anything useful. Everyone else seems to be doing the same thing.