The silence after the Emissary's retreat was not peace.
It was the kind of quiet that came after a scream—when the world held its breath, waiting to see what would bleed next.
The crossing stones dimmed slowly, their glow receding like embers buried beneath ash. The wards, exhausted, settled into uneasy stillness. Whatever threshold Evelyn had crossed, the magic knew it now. Knew her.
River didn't release her hand.
His grip was firm, grounding, as if letting go might cause her to dissolve into the air the Emissary had torn open. His thumb brushed once over her knuckles—an unconscious gesture, intimate and desperate.
"You shouldn't have stepped forward," he said quietly.
Evelyn kept her eyes on the place where the Emissary had vanished. "Neither should it."
Cassian finally exhaled, sharp and shaky. "That thing just implied the universe is going to make you choose between godhood and heartbreak. I feel like we should be more alarmed."
