weren't ready to leave the room. But eventually, the world stopped waiting for us.
Halin didn't summon us—someone from the academy kitchens did, knocking twice before speaking through the door:
"Uh—breakfast was delivered. Someone apparently requested extra tea for stress?"
Seris groaned into her pillow. "They better have sent sweet rolls."
Lira giggled quietly and pushed herself upright. "She did tell us tea steadies resonance. Maybe this is part of training?"
"No," Seris muttered, "this is mild bribery for putting up with her rules."
I couldn't help laughing softly. "You really can't stand authority."
"I can," she said, sitting up. "Just not hers."
Still, she got up first—stretching, tying her hair back, pretending she wasn't checking on both of us with every subtle glance.
Lira rose next, tying her robe, cheeks still faintly pink from everything we hadn't needed words for. She looked at me—and something soft fluttered in her expression, like she hadn't figured out where to put all this new feeling yet.
I got up last. Slowly. Carefully.
My body felt like it remembered the dream more than I did.
Lira noticed instantly. "Are you dizzy?"
"A little," I admitted.
She placed her palm over my chest—exactly where the fracture sat. Her magic glowed warm through her touch, like morning sunlight inside my ribs.
Seris watched carefully. "Still pulsing?"
"Less," I said. "More… quiet."
Seris nodded. "Good. We like quiet."
Lira's magic lingered a moment longer before withdrawing gently. "Tell us if it shifts."
"I will."
Seris opened the door, snatching the tray from a startled apprentice and shutting the door in their face so fast the hinges rattled.
Lira stared at her. "Seris!"
"What?" Seris said, setting the tray down. "They looked like they were judging us."
"No one is judging us," Lira said softly. Then she corrected herself, "Or… if they are, they don't matter."
Seris paused, turned slowly toward her, and said in the most serious voice I'd heard all morning—
"You're perfect."
Lira flushed instantly.
I sat down between them, taking a sweet roll and splitting it into three without thinking. One piece for me, one for Lira, one for Seris.
Lira stared. Seris blinked.
"What?" I asked.
Lira smiled so warmly it made my breath catch. "Nothing."
Seris nudged my shoulder. "I like this version of mornings."
"Me too," I whispered.
---
Just as breakfast calmed us—
The fracture pulsed.
Sudden. Deep. Urgent.
Lira gasped quietly, hand flying back to my chest.
Seris caught my arm instantly. "Arin?"
My heartbeat thundered once—then—
silence.
Not calm silence.
Full silence.
Like something had paused.
Listening.
Waiting.
Learning.
My breath shuddered. "It's awake."
Seris gritted her teeth. "What does it want now?"
I swallowed.
"It's not calling this time."
Lira's eyes widened. "Then what is it doing?"
I looked up slowly.
"It's watching."
Under our skin
None of us moved at first.
Even breathing felt too loud, like the room suddenly belonged to someone else—not us, not the academy. Something inside the fracture shifted, not painful, not even alarming…
Just present.
Seris slowly set down her cup, shoulders tightening like she was preparing to punch a ghost.
"Watching how?" she asked.
I pressed a palm over my chest, as if I could physically hold the presence still. "Like… like someone moved closer to a window."
Lira reached for my hand instantly, fingers trembling. "Is it trying to speak again?"
I shook my head.
"No. Just observing. Like—" I struggled to find the word, "—like it's curious."
Seris cursed quietly under her breath. "Curious about YOU isn't exactly comforting."
Lira leaned closer, worry tightening around her voice. "Arin, if it's becoming aware of us, then maybe that's why it's quiet."
"That's what scares me," Seris muttered. "I'd almost rather it yelled."
I gave a shaky laugh. "I wouldn't."
Seris looked right at me—eyes fierce but impossibly soft beneath the fire.
"You don't need to deal with this alone. Not again. Not ever."
Lira nodded, her voice trembling. "We're not letting it take space without giving space back."
That line hit deeper than they realized.
I whispered, "I don't want space away from either of you."
Seris froze, throat tightening.
Lira swallowed hard, eyes shining. "Then stay close. Even like this."
Her hand slid to my cheek, grounding me. Seris placed her palm over my other hand—mirroring the touch, heat against heat.
And slowly— very slowly—
the presence in the fracture softened. Like it felt us too.
Seris exhaled shakily. "Tell me you feel safer right now."
"I do," I admitted. "Because you're here."
Lira whispered, "Then let us be enough."
My voice caught. "You always are."
For a moment, all three of us just breathed together—Lira against my shoulder, Seris pressed close, hearts syncing like pulses answering one another.
And somewhere deep in that quiet…
the fracture pulsed again—
not cold. Not threatening.
Almost… fond.
That terrified me more than any nightmare ever had.
Seris stood up abruptly—not in anger, but like she needed to physically put herself between me and whatever the fracture was deciding. She didn't step away from us; she stepped forward, like she was shielding us both from something she couldn't see.
"It doesn't get to just sit there," she said low, almost growled. "It needs to understand boundaries."
Lira blinked at her. "Do you think it even can?"
Seris glanced back at us, voice firm. "Then it learns. Just like we do."
I tried to breathe past the weight inside my chest. "Maybe that's exactly what it's doing."
Seris frowned. "Learning what?"
My throat tightened around a truth I didn't know I believed until I said it.
"Us."
Lira took in a slow breath. "Arin… what if it only reaches when you're afraid?"
That hit hard.
Because she was right.
Fear had always been its doorway.
Seris crossed her arms, thinking without trying to hide it. "So if you're safe with us…"
"It watches," I whispered.
It didn't need to call me. Didn't need to pull. Didn't need to hurt.
It was listening.
Observing.
Lira leaned into me, her voice soft but trembling. "Maybe we're changing it more than it's changing you."
Seris stared. "You really believe that?"
She nodded. "Yes."
Something inside me loosened—like a knot pulled from the center of my chest.
"I don't feel completely alone in it anymore," I admitted.
Seris didn't speak right away, but her hand reached for mine, fingers threading confidently.
Lira's quiet voice filled the space. "You shouldn't. You never will again."
Emotion hit me so hard I couldn't speak.
Seris pressed her forehead to mine briefly—quick, fierce, grounding. "You're ours, Arin. That thing doesn't get to claim you."
"And if it tries," Lira whispered, "we hold you tighter."
My breath shook. "Promise?"
Lira nodded once—soft, certain.
Seris answered without hesitation—
"Always."
All three of us held onto each other, arms wound together, breathing the same air, sharing warmth that wasn't magic but something far older than the fracture or memory.
Something real.
And deep inside my ribs…
the fracture pulsed again— gentle, slow, reverent.
Like it understood.
Like it agreed.
Like it belonged to this moment too.