Because beneath the pain, beneath the bruises, beneath everything, she could still feel it.
That second pulse.
Quiet. Alive. Waiting.
It did not belong to her. It simply occupied the space she had emptied, settling deeper with every heartbeat, threading through her blood like a second current that refused to sync with her own. She could feel it now, subtle, insistent, already beginning to claim territory that had never been offered. A quiet possession that made her skin prickle with the first faint stirrings of dread.
And as sleep finally dragged her under, the first true thought she did not resist came cold and clear, sharp as the blade she had used in the shrine:
What she had taken from the shrine might now be taking something from her in return.
---
NIGHTSHADE
A soft sound slipped from Dakota before she fully woke, something between a sigh and a sleepy protest as she stretched beneath the covers, arms lifting overhead until the tension in her shoulders loosened.
