Daniel didn't wait for night.
He didn't wait for privacy.
He didn't wait for her to decide she was ready.
He took her hand and led her away from the town.
Not aggressively.
But firmly.
"Mara. Now."
She didn't resist.
That was the first sign something was wrong.
They stopped at the edge of the tree line, just far enough that voices from town faded into wind.
She wouldn't look at him.
He turned her gently to face him.
"Tell me."
"I told you. I'm fine."
His jaw tightened.
"Stop."
The word wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
She blinked.
"You don't get to protect me from the truth," he said quietly.
Her shoulders tensed.
"I'm not—"
"You are."
He stepped closer.
"You think I didn't see it? The way you hesitated before dampening the pump argument? The way you flinched when Cal raised his voice?"
Her breath caught.
"You're fading."
The word landed between them like glass.
Silence.
Wind through leaves.
Distant human noise.
She swallowed.
"It's temporary."
"Don't lie to me."
Her composure cracked.
"It's not gone," she whispered. "It's just… smaller."
Daniel's chest tightened.
"How long?"
"Since the flare."
He felt a flicker of anger.
Not at her.
At the fact she carried it alone.
"And you didn't tell me."
"I didn't want you to panic."
"I'm not fragile," he shot back.
Her voice broke.
"I am."
That stopped him.
The admission.
Raw.
Unfiltered.
She stepped back slightly, arms wrapping around herself.
"I can't reach the whole town anymore," she said quietly. "I can barely stretch past two blocks."
His heart clenched.
"And you thought killing him would fix it."
She flinched.
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
Silence again.
He ran a hand through his hair.
"Did you consider it?"
Her throat worked.
"Yes."
The honesty hit harder than denial would have.
"For how long?"
"Long enough to scare myself."
He stepped closer again, but slower now.
"You're not a weapon, Mara."
"It doesn't feel like that when you're built with a master lock."
His eyes widened slightly.
"So it's true."
She nodded faintly.
"I'm still tethered."
"To Voss."
"Yes."
"And if he dies?"
She closed her eyes.
"The architecture decentralizes."
"And you stop fading."
"Probably."
He exhaled sharply.
"And that was tempting."
"Yes."
The word was barely audible.
He stepped forward and took her face in his hands.
"Look at me."
She did.
"You don't get your power back by becoming what he designed."
Her voice shook.
"What if this is what he designed? What if I was never meant to hold it this long?"
"Then we adapt."
She laughed weakly.
"That's easy for you to say."
"No," he said softly. "It's not."
He let his hands slide down to her shoulders.
"I'm scared."
That caught her off guard.
"You are?"
"Yes."
"Of me?"
"No."
He leaned his forehead against hers.
"I'm scared you'll start thinking you have to be invincible to deserve staying."
Her breath hitched.
"I don't."
"You do."
The truth was unbearable.
"I don't want to need you," she whispered.
He smiled faintly, but there was sadness in it.
"That's too bad."
She blinked.
He pulled back slightly.
"I need you."
The simplicity of it broke something inside her.
"I'm not steady," she said.
"Neither am I."
"I'm fading."
"So am I."
She stared at him.
"What?"
"I don't feel you the same way I did three days ago," he admitted.
Her stomach dropped.
"Because I'm weaker."
"No," he said immediately. "Because you're closing off."
The words hit.
"I don't know how to share this," she whispered.
"Then start messy."
Her eyes filled.
"I thought if I lost it… I'd lose who I am."
He leaned in slightly closer.
"You're not your signal."
She shook her head.
"It feels like it."
"Then let me remind you."
And before she could brace—
He kissed her.
Not careful.
Not restrained.
Not calculated.
It wasn't about stability.
It wasn't about power.
It was about grounding.
His hands slid to her waist.
Hers fisted in his shirt.
The amplification flickered—
Not brighter.
Not stronger.
But warmer.
Aligned differently.
When he pulled back, his voice was rough.
"You're still here."
Her forehead rested against his again.
"I was so scared."
"Of what?"
"That I'd choose efficiency."
He smiled faintly.
"You hesitated."
She let out a shaky breath.
"Yeah."
"That's you."
She closed her eyes.
"I don't want to kill him."
"Then don't."
"He'll keep pulling."
"Then we cut the tether another way."
She searched his face.
"How?"
He squeezed her hand.
"Together."
For the first time in days—
The fading didn't feel like dying.
It felt like transition.
Far underground—
Voss stood in a darkened command chamber lit only by emergency power.
The solar flare had damaged infrastructure.
But not him.
Never him.
Screens glowed faintly around him.
Waveform patterns pulsed across one surviving monitor.
He observed the decline in amplitude.
He had expected surge.
Not contraction.
"Interesting," he murmured.
He zoomed in on the tri-waveform.
Mara's signal was dimming.
But not collapsing.
Redistributing.
Daniel's frequency rising slightly.
Ten's stabilizing.
He adjusted a dial on a nearby console.
"She is attempting independence," he said softly.
A technician—one of the few remaining—looked uneasy.
"Should we retrieve her?"
Voss shook his head.
"No."
"Then what?"
He stared at the waveform.
"We remove the variable."
The technician swallowed.
"Daniel?"
Voss didn't look at him.
"No."
He tapped a sequence into the system.
A projection appeared.
A strike plan.
Not capture.
Termination.
"If the tether destabilizes further," Voss said calmly, "she becomes unpredictable."
He turned slightly.
"And unpredictability cannot be allowed."
The technician hesitated.
"You're going to kill her?"
Voss's expression didn't shift.
"I am going to preserve the future."
He leaned closer to the screen.
"And if she cannot carry it… someone else will."
Somewhere on another monitor—
Prototype Twelve's dormant file flickered.
And activated.
Above ground—
Mara felt something shift.
Not fading.
Not strengthening.
Watching.
She pulled back from Daniel slightly.
"Did you feel that?"
His expression changed instantly.
"Yes."
The air thinned.
Not panic.
Not collapse.
Targeting.
The tether pulsed faintly.
And somewhere—
A decision had been made.