Me, underneath it all.
I watch Kaia’s face, heart hammering so hard I’m sure she can hear it.
She stops short.
Her breath catches.
Her shadows go still — all of them, even Mouse — and for one terrible second I think I’ve made a horrible mistake.
Then Bob’s edges soften. Patricia’s notebook stops flickering. Finnick drops silently from somewhere above and does a slow, curious flip around one of the floating lights.
“You made this?” Kaia’s voice is barely a whisper.
“I… yeah.” I swallow hard. “I wanted to make something for you. Something that wasn’t… hurtful. Or from fear. From any of that.”
She steps forward slowly, lifting her hand toward one of the lights. She doesn’t touch it — but almost. Her shadows flicker with curiosity instead of fear.
“It’s beautiful,” she says.
My chest nearly caves in.
“You don’t owe me anything,” I say quickly, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “I don’t want anything in return. I just… hoped you might like it. That’s all.”
She turns to look at me, and her eyes — violet, always violet, how could I ever forget — are soft in a way I don’t deserve.
“Thank you, Darian.”
I don’t know what to do with that. Don’t know where to put it.
So I just nod, trying not to show how much her reaction means. Trying not to fall apart.
One of the bubbles flickers.
The light inside flares too bright, fracturing, and I feel the corruption surge through the bond like oil through water. Cold and hungry and wrong.
I grab for it instinctively, dispersing the bubble before it can burst, forcing the corruption back down with everything I have. My hands shake. My vision blurs at the edges.
For a second — just a second — I feel like I’m back in that cell. Alenya’s key burning in my palm. Choosing fear because it was easier than hope.
Then something else breaks through.
Light.
Not corrupted. Not twisted. Just… light.
It flickers beneath my skin, faint but visible, pushing back against the darkness. Fighting for space.
Kaia sees it. I know she does.
“You’re getting better,” she says quietly.
I shake my head, still trembling. “I’m trying.”
The words echo in my skull.I’m trying.The same thing we’re both doing — trying to be something other than what we were.
“You don’t have to pretend it’s easy,” she says.
“I’m not.” I force myself to meet her eyes. “But I’m not giving up either.”
