The word hits me so hard, my knees give out.
“Selene.”
I know the voice before I see her.
She’s kneeling among the roses, hands gentle as prayer as she brushes dew from a bloom. She looks the way she did in my earliest memories—whole, unbroken, alive. No sickness. No grief carved into her face.
“Mom.”
The sound tears out of me.
She rises, and suddenly I’m in her arms, breathless, clinging, inhaling rosewater and bread dough and warm wool. My sobs come fast and ugly, my body remembering before my mind can stop it.
“I missed you,” I choke. “I missed you so much.”
“I know,” she murmurs, fingers stroking my hair. “I never wanted to leave you.”
For the first time in years, the ache eases. The constant vigilance. The sharp edge inside my chest. Here, I’m not broken or cursed or chosen.
I’m just her daughter.
“You can stay,” she whispers, forehead resting against mine. “No more Trials. No more blood. No more mirrors.”
I pull back just enough to look at her. “And Kat?”
Her smile softens. “She’s safe. Laughing. She’s always safe here.”
The wordheresettles into me like honey.
I could have this. This life. This peace.
No more choosing pain.
My chest caves in.
“Stay,” she says again, softer now. “You don’t have to fight anymore.”
The garden breathes around us, lush and alive. This is not an illusion stitched from fear. This is mercy. And that is what makes it dangerous.
Beyond the roses, something dark stirs. Shadows press at the edges of the light. Patient. Waiting.
I shake my head, tears blurring the world. “If I stay… what happens to the others?”
Her eyes glisten. “They will fade, as all things do.”
The answer is gentle. It is also a lie by omission.
I step back, every inch tearing something loose inside me. “I love you,” I whisper.
“I know.”
“I can’t stay.”
Pain flashes across her face—but beneath it, pride.
“Then go, Selene Fairchild,” she says, pressing her lips to my brow. “Burn bright and remember, all the darkness in the world cannot extinguish the light of a single flame.”
The garden fractures. The light drains away. Glass rises around me, cold and endless.
