That night, as the dormitory fell silent, the voice returned.
"Do you feel it? His despair clings to you. His pain becomes yours. This is what redemption costs."
I sat up in bed, fists clenched, teeth grinding. "I know the cost."
The voice chuckled, low and cruel. "But do you know the risk? If he falls, you fall. If he takes his life, you will join him—shattered, screaming, forever."
The weight of it crushed me. This wasn't just about saving the boy. It was about saving myself.
And in that truth, I heard the voice's mocking final whisper:
"Do not fail him. Or you will pray for a torment like Griggs's cane."