Rissa’s POV

The line in the sky should not exist.

I feel it before I fully see it.

A thin fracture. Silver. Alive.

It hums.

Not like the altar.

Not like the first tear.

This one is quieter.

Worse.

Because it is listening.

My chest tightens as the power in me locks onto it, drawn to it like breath to lungs. I try to pull back, to shut it down, to undo what I just did.

It does not respond.

It deepens.

“Rissa.”

Mark’s voice cuts through everything.

Sharp.

Grounding.

I turn toward him, but ...