Damien had his sword raised.
One breath more—just one—and he would have struck.
His muscles still trembled from the restraint, his hand aching from the tension. Clara's body had convulsed, crimson veins glowing beneath her skin, and for that instant, she hadn't looked like Clara at all. She had looked like the enemy. Like Yurin's vessel. Like the very thing he had sworn to destroy.
And he had almost done it.
Now, her chest rose and fell in shallow gasps, her head buried in Evelyn's arms as the girl whispered broken reassurances. Zeke crouched nearby, glyphs fading from his palms, his eyes cold but sharp with relief—or maybe calculation. Always calculation with him.
Damien lowered his blade slowly, the steel glinting faintly in the firelight. His reflection in it looked grim, merciless. He hated how much it fit.
"You almost killed her." Evelyn's voice cut through the quiet, sharp as her flames. She wasn't shouting, but the venom in her words burned hotter than fire.
Damien didn't flinch. He didn't apologize. He couldn't. "If she had crossed fully, she wouldn't be Clara anymore."
"She is Clara!" Evelyn snapped, her arms tightening around the trembling girl. "She fought him! She chose us!"
"She chose this time." His voice was steady, but his heart was not. His gaze drifted back to Clara, pale and trembling. "Next time, she may not."
Evelyn's eyes blazed, but before she could answer, Zeke interjected, his tone clinical, detached. "Damien isn't wrong."
Evelyn whirled on him. "Don't you dare."
But Zeke's stare was unwavering. "I monitored the tether. Yurin's influence is stronger than we expected. He nearly rewrote the connection entirely. If Clara hadn't resisted at the last second…" He glanced at Damien's sword, then back at Evelyn. "Then his strike might have been the only solution."
The fire crackled in the silence that followed. Evelyn's lip trembled, her anger fracturing into something rawer. "You're both talking like she's some kind of equation. Like she's expendable."
Damien finally sheathed his blade. The click of steel sliding into its scabbard felt heavier than any battle wound. "No one here is expendable." He met Evelyn's burning gaze, forcing her to see the truth in his. "That's why it would kill me to make that choice. But I'll make it if I have to. Because I won't let him take her and use her against us."
Evelyn's breath hitched. She wanted to argue—damn him, she wanted to—but her arms tightened protectively around Clara instead, as if sheer will alone could shield the girl from fate.
Damien turned his back, because the weight in his chest was becoming unbearable. He walked a few paces away, toward the treeline, the night air biting at his skin.
He replayed it all in his mind: Clara convulsing, crimson spreading, the faint echo of Yurin's presence seeping into the clearing. And above all, his own hesitation. That split-second where he saw Clara's face—not the vessel, not the threat—but Clara. The girl who had smiled awkwardly when she fumbled her first spell. The girl who had laughed at Evelyn's sarcastic jabs. The girl who, for all her fear, had never once abandoned them.
And he had nearly cut her down.
Damien clenched his fists. The sword at his side felt heavier than ever.
"Damien."
Zeke's voice drifted from behind. Quiet, deliberate. Damien didn't turn.
"She's stable now," Zeke said, stepping closer. "But the tether is fragile. He'll come again. Harder. Stronger." A pause. "And next time, your hesitation might cost more than just her."
Damien's jaw tightened. He already knew. That was the worst part. He knew, and still his blade had faltered.
"What would you do, Zeke?" he asked finally, his voice low.
There was no hesitation in the reply. "Sever her. Immediately."
Damien exhaled through his nose, bitter. He had expected nothing less from Zeke's cold logic. "And Evelyn?"
"She'd fight to the death before letting that happen."
That much, too, was obvious. Damien rubbed at his face, weariness creeping into his bones. They were trapped in a triangle of impossible choices—Evelyn's unyielding devotion, Zeke's ruthless pragmatism, and his own wavering blade caught in the middle.
And at the heart of it all—Clara, trembling between salvation and damnation.
When he finally looked back, Evelyn was still holding her, whispering, stroking her hair as though keeping her tethered through sheer touch. Clara's eyes were half-closed, her lips moving faintly, forming words Damien couldn't hear.
He wondered what she was seeing. If Yurin was still whispering in her head.
Damien turned back to the night. The stars above were cold, indifferent.
He drew a slow breath and whispered to himself, "If the day comes… will I be strong enough to do it?"
He didn't know if he wanted the answer.