The fissure's glow faded behind them, but its hum lingered in Clara's bones like a fever. She kept walking, each step unsteady, the mark on her palm still smoldering. Evelyn led from the front, shoulders rigid, refusing to acknowledge what just happened. Damien, however, was silent in a way that felt sharper than words.
The canyon narrowed until they were forced into single file, jagged walls pressing close on either side. Clara could feel Damien's eyes on her back. Every hair on her neck bristled. She wanted to vanish into the stone.
Finally, when the path widened again, Damien caught her wrist. His grip was firm, not cruel, but unyielding. Clara froze.
"Talk," he said quietly, his voice edged with steel. "What did you hear back there?"
Evelyn stopped a few paces ahead but didn't turn. Her hand hovered near her blade, as if preparing for an argument to turn physical.
Clara's lips parted, but no sound emerged. Her heart thundered, memories flashing of Yurin's calm whisper: Trust me, Clara. It had been too clear, too deliberate to mistake for the Architect's voice.
Damien's eyes bored into hers. "Don't lie to me. I've fought the fissures long enough to know their whispers. What you heard wasn't them." His grip tightened slightly. "Was it him?"
Her breath caught. "…Damien—"
"Was it Yurin?"
The canyon fell deathly quiet. Even the hum of the fissure seemed to retreat, leaving the three of them standing in an airless void.
Clara's throat closed. Saying it aloud would make it real. But Damien's stare didn't allow her silence anymore. It demanded truth.
She whispered, barely audible: "…Yes."
Damien's expression hardened, a storm behind his eyes. He released her wrist abruptly, as if her skin burned him. He turned his back, running a hand through his hair. "I knew it. Gods, I knew it."
Evelyn finally turned, her gaze sharp but unreadable. "And what, exactly, does that change? She hears him. So what? We've known since the tower that Yurin wasn't gone."
Damien spun on her, anger finally spilling over. "So what? Evelyn, she's carrying his voice inside her head! That's not a coincidence—that's control! How long before he decides to tighten the leash? How long before Clara stops being Clara and becomes his puppet?"
Clara flinched, her chest hollowing at the word puppet.
Evelyn's voice stayed cold, but her jaw flexed. "If he wanted her hollow, she'd already be gone. He hasn't broken her. That means she's resisting."
Damien's laugh was bitter. "Or it means he doesn't need to break her. He's winning anyway, one whisper at a time. Don't you get it? Every step we take east—every choice—we're dancing on strings he tied."
Clara tried to speak, but the words tangled in her chest. The truth was worse than either of them realized. She wasn't just following Yurin's threads. A part of her agreed with him.
Evelyn's expression softened—not with kindness, but with something colder, more pragmatic. "Whether you like it or not, Damien, she's our tether. If Yurin's voice reaches her, then she's the only one who can hear what he's planning. We don't cut her off. We use her."
Damien's hands clenched into fists. "You don't use people, Evelyn. Not her."
"Better her than all of us walking blind," Evelyn snapped back.
Clara's chest constricted. Their words twisted around her like barbed wire—Damien's desperate protection, Evelyn's ruthless pragmatism. Both spoke as if she were not there, as if her choices had already been devoured by Yurin's shadow.
Finally, Clara forced her voice out, sharper than she expected. "Stop."
Both turned to her, startled.
Clara took a breath, her fists trembling at her sides. "He spoke to me. Yes. It was him. But I'm still me. I'm not his puppet. I'm not your tool. I'm—" She faltered, then steadied herself. "I'm choosing to walk. And if I hear him again, I'll decide what to do with it. Not you."
The canyon swallowed her words, throwing them back in echoes. For a long moment, neither Evelyn nor Damien spoke.
Finally, Damien exhaled slowly, his fury dimming into something more wounded. He nodded once, tightly, though his eyes still burned. "Fine. But if he pushes through you—if he takes more than whispers—" He swallowed hard. "I'll do what I have to."
Clara's heart lurched. She knew exactly what that meant.
Evelyn didn't intervene this time. She simply turned and continued walking east, her silence saying more than words could.
Clara stood between them, her hand burning faintly again, the echo of Yurin's whisper lingering like a scar.
And somewhere far away, she swore she felt him smile.