Rissa’s POV

The word becoming does not leave when the noise settles.

It stays.

It sits in my chest like something alive, something waiting to see what I will do next.

The fracture trembles above us, thinner than before but still there. Still listening. Still pulling.

I can feel it watching me.

Not the way a person watches.

The way something vast notices a shift in balance.

Mark is still holding me. His grip is tight, grounding, real in a way nothing else is right now.

“Rissa,” he says, ...