Evelyn's declaration didn't echo like a grand speech. It was soft, but it cut through the air like tempered steel. Everyone fell silent. Even Sera, who always had something to say—especially something reckless—just stared at her, searching for hesitation and finding none.
"I won't let them rewrite me," Evelyn repeated, more to herself this time, as if confirming something deeply personal. "I was made to balance things. That includes this damn story."
Verena's lips curved slightly—approval, pride, maybe something more complicated. She stepped forward and offered Evelyn her hand.
"Then stand, Conduitor of Balance."
Evelyn took it, steady and sure. The moment her fingers closed around Verena's palm, the dreamlike haze that clung to the edges of the Old Wing trembled. The air shimmered faintly, and something shifted—like a tide pulling away to reveal bones beneath.
"They're watching us now," Clarina murmured, eyes narrowing. "The ones behind this. The authors."
