She tilted her head to one side. “The one Lewis told us about, when she spent three days unconscious afterward.”
Ben nodded. “It changed her permanently. Her electromagnetic sensitivity increased significantly after the anchoring. She said it felt like the phoenix had left some of its fire inside her.”
Sidney was quiet for a long moment after hearing those words. When she spoke, though, she sounded more thoughtful than worried. “You’re saying if I anchor the phoenix through rebirth, I might not be the same person afterward.”
As much as he hated the idea, he made himself reply calmly, “I’m saying it’s a possibility we need to consider. Your grandmother anchored a clean rebirth and still spent days unconscious. You’re going to be anchoring a corrupted one while already severely depleted.” Ben took her hands so she could face toward him. “This might kill you. At the very least, it could change you so fundamentally that who you are now — ”
“Doesn’t exist anymore,” she cut in gently. Her voice was steady enough, but Ben could feel the way her slender body shivered. “I know. I’ve been feeling it through the connection with the phoenix, the way our consciousnesses are entangling. If I anchor it through rebirth, we’re going to merge on a level that might not be reversible.”
Ben wanted to tell her that wasn’t an acceptable outcome, that they needed to find another solution, another way forward that didn’t involve Sidney sacrificing herself or her identity. But they’d been over this ground already, and the math hadn’t changed.
No anchor meant the phoenix died. A dead phoenix meant the portal would destabilize. And a destabilized portal meant Sidney’s mother and grandmother were cut off forever, and Silver Hollow’s entire supernatural ecosystem collapsed.
It was an impossible situation, no matter how they looked at it.
“There has to be another way,” he said, more out of stubbornness than because he thought they had a viable solution.
“If there is, we haven’t found it.” Sidney leaned against him, her weight settling into his side. She felt so light, so fragile, as if some necessary part of her life force had already been stripped from her. “And we’re running out of time to look.”
The unicorn lifted its head and stared at them with those ancient eyes. Through his growing electromagnetic sensitivity, now amplified by the grove’s clean energy, Ben could sense the creature’s purpose clearly.
It was here to help and to protect, to ensure that Sidney survived what came next.
But even the unicorn’s presence couldn’t guarantee success.
“Tell me what you found in the journals,” Sidney said then. “All of it. I need to know what I’m facing.”
Ben pulled his laptop closer and walked her through Emily’s entries — the anchoring process, the physical toll, the permanent changes. Sidney listened without interrupting, her expression growing more serious with each detail.
“So I’ll probably be unconscious for days afterward,” she said when he was done. “Assuming I survive at all.”
Forcing himself to sound dispassionate, to look at the problem with scientific eyes, he replied, “That’s what your grandmother’s journals suggest.”
Not even a blink. “And my abilities might change. Expand, maybe, or become something different.”
“Yes.”
Sidney glanced over at the phoenix, then at the unicorn, and finally back at Ben. “I can live with that. As long as I live.”
This hurt. She was being so matter-of-fact about it, so resigned to paying whatever cost the anchoring demanded. He wanted to shake her, wanted to make her see how precious she was, how much he needed her to survive this intact.
But he knew Sidney well enough to understand that arguing would only make her defensive. She’d made her choice already — had probably made it the moment she’d felt the phoenix’s distress call in the forest.
All he could do now was support her through it.
“Okay,” he said, and allowed himself a small breath, one he hoped would give him the strength he needed. “Then we prepare. We need to learn everything we can about the anchoring process and figure out how to maximize your chances of survival.”
“And you’ll be there to stabilize me,” Sidney said, calm as if they were discussing him teaching her how to water ski. “Lewis said your electromagnetic field makes my abilities more efficient.”
He hoped Lewis was right. “I’ll be there every second.” Ben laced his fingers through hers. “I’m not leaving you to face this alone.”
Their electromagnetic fields began to synchronize, that familiar resonance strengthening as they sat together in the grove. But this time, amplified by the spring’s dimensional energy, the effect was visible — a soft golden glow forming around their joined hands, spreading up their arms.
Sidney stared at the light. “Is that — ?”
“Our bioelectric fields becoming visible. The dimensional energy here is making them manifest physically.” Ben watched as the glow spread across Sidney’s skin, warm and gentle. “It’s never done this before.”
“It’s beautiful,” Sidney whispered.
