Cain exhaled slowly.
"So. Another nightmare."
His brother didn't answer right away. He braced a hand against his thigh and pushed himself up, trembling from exhaustion and the lingering burns crawling across his skin.
"This isn't a realm," he managed.
Cain raised an eyebrow. "Looks real enough."
"It's between realms. A hinge. A buffer." The man looked around, eyes narrowing. "We're too close to the Divide. Reality is thin here."
Cain tapped the ground with the heel of his boot. It held—solid but strangely hollow. Every sound echoed. Even their breathing sounded layered, like faint whispers followed milliseconds later by delayed copies.
"Feels wrong," Cain muttered.
His brother nodded. "Because this space was never meant to hold people. Only transitions."
Cain frowned. "Transitions to what?"
The man didn't respond.
Instead, he squinted into the air as if following a scent only he could detect. His steps dragged, uneven. Cain moved closer, ready to catch him if he fell.
