Silence.
But not the silence of peace.
The silence of something waiting to be named.
The Architect's corpse was dissolving into rivers of silver, its faceless mask crumbling into dust that glittered like snowfall. All around them, the Pane trembled as though ashamed, its fractured sky folding and groaning. Reflections swirled without direction, desperate, headless things no longer guided by law.
And in the center of it all—
Ren and the girl stood, still joined hand to hand.
His cracks pulsed faintly, glowing with flame. Her wings of fire bent inward, curling like a shield, but also like a cocoon. She was breathing heavily, not from weakness, but from weight. Something was pressing on her—inside her—as though all the countless voices freed from the Architect had turned toward her alone.
Ren squeezed her hand. "Stay with me."
