"…something else. My Immortal Sense went nuts trying to read beyond that cliff. Like trying to measure the sun with a dollar-store thermometer while the sun's actively trying to delete your browser history. Just… too much."
Silence settled over the table like wet concrete hardening fast.
Senithe's expression didn't shift. But her fingers—resting lightly on the linen—pressed down. Just a fraction. The only tell she ever allowed herself, the microscopic equivalent of screaming.
"If he went there," she said slowly, each word carved with surgical precision, "then something terrifying is about to crawl out of that chasm. You know my Sense ranks second only to yours. Even I can't see past the cliff's edge. Can't step inside. It's like staring into a mirror that stares back, knows your PIN, your browser tabs, and exactly how many times you've lied to yourself about 'just one more episode.'"
The words hung heavy. Prophetic. Final.
And then—
The world died.
