The grip on my wrist burns.

  But not from the outside.

  That wasn’t the worst part.

  The worst part is the space beneath my skin and inside my thoughts opening from within. Words. Concepts. Burrowing into me like worms.

  Suddenly, the world becomes painfully sharp. Too sharp.

  The cold hasn’t gone anywhere—it’s still there. But something is different. I feel a false calm settling in, heavy, like the stillness before a fall.

  And that terrifies me the most.

  I can hear Gabriel’s ragged breathing, muttering something with what little strength he has left, trying to stand. I can see Carmen helping him, practically dragging him away from where he fell.

  And I can hear that thing too.

  Like an echo bouncing inside my soul.

  It doesn’t come as words, but as images. Fragments I never asked to remember. Things I don’t even know actually happened.

  “You brought them…”

  “They will be next…”

  My stomach clenches into a fist.

  “Don’t touch them!” I say—at least, I think I do.

  “We don’t need to touch…”

  “You led them here…”

  The pull intensifies. That unbearable sensation of my organs rearranging themselves.

  “He won’t come this time.”

  “He promised he’d stay close.”

  “He’s only using you.”

  “The Council will erase you.”

  Enough. Please.

  “So bright… and so alone…”

  “Let go…”

  “Hunger is truth…”

  “Cold is peace…”

  Then, suddenly, they stop pulling.

  The noise in my head settles. I can think again.

  This isn’t right.

  “Look at them…”

  It doesn’t sound like an order. It sounds like an invitation.

  I see Gabriel leaning against the wall, clutching his side. Carmen stands in front of him, shaking, trying to look bigger than she is, trying to shield him.

  “They’re hurt…”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “They can’t run…”

  Just a flash. Carmen falling first. Then Gabriel. Gently. With acceptance.

  “It hurts less if it’s quick…”

  “You can prevent it…”

  “Let us in…”

  There it is.

  The solution. A transaction.

  The grip on my wrist loosens slightly.

  “You don’t have to watch…”

  “You don’t have to carry this…”

  “Just… let go…”

  For a moment, the logic becomes perfect. Beautiful. Lethal.

  The most terrifying part is that it makes sense.

  Which means it isn’t mine.

  As soon as I realize that, I feel another deep, subtle tug—a reminder that this is a negotiation… and I’m not winning.

  “So bright…”

  “So fragile…”

  This doesn’t end if I let go.

  This begins.

  I’ve seen it already.

  My left hand trembles. I remember Elisabeth’s ring is there. Cold against my skin.

  “It won’t work…”

  “It will break you…”

  “It will leave you empty…”

  “Let go…”

  I gather every bit of strength I have—and more.

  “Maybe,” I think. “But I won’t give you the satisfaction.”

  I touch the ring, just like Elisabeth said.

  The entire world goes dark and silent, as if all my senses have been unplugged.

  The pull vanishes completely. The cold retreats unevenly. I can feel the grip and the burning fade away. I collapse hard onto the ground, barely able to breathe.

  A few seconds pass before my vision returns. I still can’t move. I can’t speak.

  The first thing I see when I open my eyes is the possessed stepping back. It looks confused. I feel it searching for me—and failing to find me, even though I’m right in front of it.

  Elisabeth was right.

  My beacon is gone.

  The problem is, the rest of me went dark with it.

  Then the possessed turns—and sees them. Gabriel and Carmen. It starts moving toward them slowly. There’s no need to rush. It has all the time in the world.

  I try to scream, but no sound comes out. My fingers won’t respond. My senses return in badly ordered layers—pain first, then sound, then fear.

  I see Carmen turn around. I see her freeze. Gabriel forces himself upright, putting himself between her and the possessed.

  “Carmen. Run,” he says.

  She doesn’t move. She says something I can’t hear. My mobility returns little by little. I crawl forward, scraping my hands against the concrete, trying to reach them.

  Then the air pressure explodes.

  The possessed is hurled sideways, like it’s been hit by a truck. The ground cracks. The walls tremble.

  It regains its footing—only for another blast of compressed air to hit it. The possessed lifts off the ground, suspended several meters in the air.

  Two more impacts. Three. Four.

  Four shapeless masses slam back onto the floor.

  A snap of fingers—and the pieces ignite, turning into ash. No trace left behind.

  I feel hands gripping my shoulders. Firm—but trembling.

  “Elena…”

  Lorcan kneels and props me against a nearby wall. He checks me quickly, precisely. His fingers press against my neck, searching for my pulse, confirming that I’m still here.

  It’s intimate. Too intimate. But I can’t make a sound.

  “My mother’s ring worked,” he says. Only then does his breathing finally ease. “Now you understand why it’s only for emergencies. Good job.”

  He places a hand on my head. Carefully. Like he’s afraid I might break. I feel the tremor in his pulse.

  “Th… th… thank you…” I manage, my voice slowly returning.

  That’s when Carmen and Gabriel reach us.

  “Elena!” Carmen cries, dropping to her knees beside me. “Never tell me everything’s fine when you’re in trouble again—do you hear me? Never again!”

  She wants to hug me. Shake me. Do something. She can’t. She can only cry.

  Gabriel approaches Lorcan slowly, still holding his side.

  “Thank you,” he says hoarsely. “I don’t know what you did or what happened, but… good job.”

  Lorcan stands.

  “Thank you,” he replies. “You too. You held on longer than most.”

  “Maybe not long enough,” Gabriel says, still dazed. “All this time looking for something paranormal and then it hits me ri—”

  He doesn’t finish the sentence.

  I see Lorcan press two fingers to Gabriel’s forehead.

  Two seconds later, Gabriel collapses to the ground, like his power’s been cut.

  “Gabriel!” Carmen shouts, spinning toward him.

  She doesn’t have time to process it. Lorcan is already in front of her.

  “I’m sorry,” Lorcan says. “It’s for his own good.”

  He repeats the gesture on Carmen.

  “No… no, that’s not—” she stammers.

  She falls backward, collapsing onto me. I barely stay upright against the wall. The little air I have left escapes me.

  I want to scream. I need to scream.

  I can’t.

  Lorcan watches them for a second too long. Just one. Then he looks at me.

  “They’ll wake up in a few minutes,” he says. “They won’t remember any of this.”

  There’s no relief in his expression. But there’s no doubt either.

  “It was what I had to do.”

  I want to hate him.

  I want to understand him.

  I want—

  I want him to erase me too.