The Conduit Chamber pulsed like a living thing, threads swaying in a rhythm Arielle couldn't hear but felt in her bones. Her fingertips tingled as she crouched, staring at the silver-gold strand Selene had told her to weave.
It wasn't frayed, not yet — but its glow had dimmed, flickering like a candle in a draft. Two lives, Selene had said. Two people clinging to something neither could name.
She reached out slowly, remembering Selene's instructions: Breathe. Don't take. Don't fight. Just feel.
The moment her fingers brushed the thread, a flood of sensation slammed into her chest.
A dinner table in a tiny apartment. A hand reaching across to brush away tears. The sound of rain against glass as two voices whispered apologies in the dark.
The weight of their bond was almost unbearable. Arielle gasped, the images hitting so fast they blurred together. She wasn't living their lives, but she could feel them — their joy, their fear, their desperate grip on each other.
Selene's hand was on her shoulder instantly, grounding her. "Steady. Don't drown in it. Let the thread show you, but don't hold it too tightly."
Arielle nodded shakily, trying to find her breath. She pictured the bond whole, imagined it glowing steady and strong, and felt the hum in her chest align with the strand's pulse. Slowly, its flicker steadied, the thread glowing warm beneath her hand.
When she finally released it, she staggered back, her palms clammy, her chest tight. "Is it always like that? Feeling everything?"
Selene studied her, their expression unreadable. "For most Threadbinders, yes. Some burn out because they can't handle it. Some… get addicted."
"Addicted?" Arielle's brow furrowed.
Selene spun the silver needle between their fingers. "The bonds feel realer than anything else. Love, loyalty, even grief. If you're not careful, you stop weaving to help people and start weaving just to feel. And that's when the weave starts to consume you."
Arielle looked back at the glowing threads. For the first time, she understood why the city's bonds felt so fragile. Not because they were weak — but because the power in each one could break someone who wasn't ready to hold it.
And somewhere, she felt it: a faint, cold tug, like a hand brushing her spine. The predator, watching.