The chamber was too quiet.
Elma sat on the edge of her bed, sleeves rolled up, the shard cupped in her palm. Its hum wasn't soft anymore. It pulsed like a heartbeat out of rhythm, a predator pacing in its cage.
She held her breath as blue light crawled across her skin, tracing veins like glowing ink. The sigils on her throat flickered in response, forming patterns she didn't recognize.
She whispered, "What are you?"
The shard pulsed, sharp enough to make her flinch.
Her vision blurred for half a second—not with pain, but with something else. The room stretched and twisted, every shadow bending toward her like a bowing crowd. She blinked, and it was gone, but the echo stayed in her chest: a sense of hunger.
Not hers. Its.
The door creaked softly.
Elma slid the shard under her pillow as Calista stepped inside, closing the door behind her. The faintest tremor in her hands betrayed how tightly she was wound.
"He's moving faster," Calista murmured, glancing at the guarded hallway behind her.
Elma leaned back on her elbows. "So am I."
Calista's eyes flicked to her throat. "You're glowing again."
Elma's smirk was thin. "Yeah, I noticed."
Calista crossed the room, her mask cracking just enough for concern to show. She reached out, hesitated, then touched Elma's collarbone where the sigils faintly glimmered.
The shard's hum spiked at the contact. Calista snatched her hand back, eyes wide.
"It doesn't like you," Elma said softly.
Calista's voice dropped. "Or it's warning me."
They shared a look—unspoken fear, sharpened into resolve.
A knock on the door shattered the moment.
"Master summons you," a guard's voice said.
Calista straightened instantly, slipping her mask back on. Elma grabbed her jacket, tucking the shard close to her body.
They followed the guard through the manor's long corridors. The walls felt alive tonight, sigils pulsing faintly in the torchlight. Portraits of Vale ancestors seemed to track their steps with judgmental eyes.
When they entered Nitron's study, the air was colder.
Nitron sat behind his desk, a glass of wine in one hand. He didn't look up immediately, letting the silence chew at them. Finally, he said, "You glow beautifully, Elma."
Her jaw tightened, but she didn't answer.
He smiled faintly. "You've been playing with it, haven't you? The shard. I can smell it on you."
Calista stepped forward. "She hasn't left her room. I've been with her."
"Loyal wife," Nitron said smoothly, eyes still on Elma. "But I don't need to watch you. The leash does that for me."
He snapped his fingers.
The leash burned, white-hot, making her knees buckle. She bit her tongue hard enough to taste blood, refusing to cry out.
Nitron rose from his chair, moving slow, deliberate. He stopped inches from her, his shadow swallowing hers.
"Do not mistake a flicker for fire," he murmured, his voice cold and sharp. "You are alive because I choose for you to be."
The shard pulsed violently against her ribs, but she forced herself still.
Nitron's smile thinned. He turned away, casual again. "Go. Both of you. Rest while you still can."
They left the study in silence, escorted by guards.
Back in her chamber, Elma collapsed against the door as soon as it shut. Calista knelt beside her, fingers trembling as they brushed her cheek.
"You can't keep provoking him like this," Calista whispered.
"I didn't," Elma said hoarsely. "The shard did."
Calista's eyes flicked to her chest. "Then we're not just fighting him anymore."
Elma pulled the shard from her sleeve, holding it up between them. Its glow was brighter now, the hum deeper, almost alive.
"Good," Elma whispered, smirking through the pain. "I like when the odds even out."
The shard pulsed like it agreed.
And for the first time, Calista didn't tell her to put it away.