I dug my heels into the dirt, but he was stronger. The harpy’s whimpers grew fainter behind us.
I couldn’t let this happen. I couldn’t let her die alone, tortured and enslaved, without anyone ever knowing the truth. Without anyone ever trying to help her.
“I’m sorry, Archer.”
He didn’t understand. He couldn’t—he’d taken a vow of silence, but even if he could speak, I didn’t think I could explain. I just knew I had to do this.
I raised my palm.
Heat radiated through me, spiraling down my arm toward my bracelet. The medallion flared hot against my skin, and I watched as another etching burned into the gold.
A minute hand.
Archer froze mid-step, his fingers still locked around my arm—but motionless now. A statue. I wiggled free, my heart pounding, guilt already clawing at my chest.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered again. “I’ll explain later.”
I raced back to the harpy.
She had curled into a ball, her wings wrapped around herself like a shroud. Waiting to die. A low, broken keen escaped her throat—not a cry for help. A goodbye.
Then I saw the collar.
The metal collar had turned pitch black, darker than before, and spikes—spikes—were jutting inward, piercing her throat. Blood dripped down her chest in thin rivulets, soaking into the dirt beneath her.
The queen was calling her soldier home. And if the harpy couldn’t fly, she’d die instead.
“No, no, no—” I dropped to my knees beside her. “Stay with me. Please.”
Her eyes found mine. Glassy. Fading. But somewhere beneath the pain, I saw it—a flicker of confusion. Why was I helping her? Why did I care?
I didn’t have time to explain.
Think. Think. Think.
I could stop time. I’d proven that. But stopping the dark magic wasn’t enough—the damage was already done. The spikes were already buried in her flesh. The blood was already draining from her body.
I needed to do something else. Something more.
What’s the impossible?
Caterpillar’s words echoed in my mind. Perhaps... you can stop death.
What if stopping wasn’t enough?
What if I could reverse it?
My hands trembled as I pressed them against the collar. The dark magic recoiled against my palms—slick and venomous—but I held on.
Believe in the impossible. Six impossible things before breakfast.
I closed my eyes.
Turn back.
Power surged through me—hot and blinding—but the dark magic didn’t surrender. It pushed back, coiling around my fingers like living shadow, slithering up toward my bracelet as if trying to sever the connection.
You don’t belong here, it seemed to hiss.This one is mine.
