The crypt's shadows deepened as Mara stepped forward, clutching the worn journal. Her fingers trembled, but her resolve burned brighter than ever.
Claire's eyes glinted with a fierce, almost maternal pride. "You have the power to break the cycle. Or to become what we all feared."
Rowan stood ready beside Mara, his hand tight on his gun, but his gaze soft with unspoken support.
Mara's voice was steady. "I'm not your prisoner. Not your pawn. And I won't carry this weight for you."
Claire's smile faded. "Then you leave me no choice."
She raised her hand, and from the shadows, robed figures emerged, circling like predators.
Mara swallowed the fear and stepped into the center of the chamber.
"This ends tonight."
A sudden roar echoed as the altar ignited in flames, illuminating the walls covered with generations of grief.
Claire's voice rose above the blaze. "You cannot erase what's been passed down. The weight is eternal."
But Mara shook her head. "No. The weight is what we choose to carry."
Rowan fired his gun, shattering the silence, and chaos erupted.
The Cleaners lunged, but Mara and Rowan fought back, fueled by truth and desperate hope.
As the fire consumed the crypt, Mara reached for the cracked porcelain mask.
With a deep breath, she smashed it to pieces on the altar.
The chamber trembled, and a wave of silence fell.
Claire's face softened one last time. "Maybe… this is the real cleansing."
Outside, the rain had stopped.
Mara and Rowan emerged from the ruins, bloodied but free.
The network's grip had weakened — but the echoes of grief still lingered in the night.
Mara looked to Rowan, voice quiet but certain.
"This isn't over. But it's a start."
He nodded.
Together, they vanished into the dawn — ready to face whatever shadows came next.