Silence stretched between us.
Then, without another word, the old man raised his hand. Golden light pooled in his palm. He gestured toward Cel, and the light flowed across the chamber floor, gentle as water, climbing across her skin.
The translucent quality faded. Color returned to her cheeks. Her breathing deepened, steadied.
The freezing sickness reversed itself.
"There," the Arborist said. "I have honored your request. Now you must honor mine."
I didn't like the sound of that.
"What request?"
"Kill me." He spread his arms wide, exposing his chest. "The Great Root has rejected me. The Garden has turned against its Keeper. My form fails. My purpose ends. Grant me the mercy of final death rather than slow rot."
I stared at him. At the knife in my hand.
Nel had been silent since we entered this place. Apollo had vanished. The System sat broken in the corner of my vision.
But I didn't need divine guidance to recognize a trap when I saw one.
