Night had fully settled when we reached the bridge.
The moon rose pale and distant above the river, and the water below moved with slow, dark ripples, carrying the cold scent of winter.
Anara stepped to the rail.
Her hands rested lightly on the rough wood, fingers pale in the moonlight.
Her eyes stared into the water as though it were a doorway to something far away.
Her thoughts were almost calm.
"I'm coming. I've waited long enough."
I felt her lean forward slightly, the chill wind catching her shawl and tugging it like a pleading hand.
I stepped into her thoughts, forcing my voice into the silence.
"You won't find them there," I whispered. "You'll only find the place I came from — the pit. The screaming. The endless night. Don't step forward."
For the first time since the walk began, her hands trembled.
Her breath shuddered out of her.
A single tear slid down her cheek, catching the moonlight like a tiny falling star.
She didn't step back.
But she didn't step forward either.
The river murmured below, its voice soft but relentless, promising her a final rest that was only an illusion.
I stood with her at the rail, my own heart pounding, and waited for the next breath — whether it would be one of life or one that would be swallowed by the water.