The neutrality. The calm. The refusal to choose.
It’s not discipline.
It’s design.
My gaze sharpens on her. I reallylookat her. At the way nothing ever quite touches her. The way her emotions never rise, never crack, nevercosther anything.
She hasn’t removed herself from the reality of the realm.
She’s created her own.
“You don’t stay neutral. You just pretend the parts you don’t like don’t exist. You shape things the way you’re asked,” I say,stepping closer, “and then you walk away and convince yourself whatever happens after isn’t yours to carry.”
“It isn’t,” she replies, just as calm as before.
“It is,” I snap as my mind and tongue hum. “You just built yourself a reality where it’s not.”
Silence stretches between us.
“You think because you don’tacknowledgethe damage, it doesn’t belong to you. Because you don’t pick a side, you don’t have to live with the consequences of either one.”
Her gaze fractures, just a touch. Mine glows.
“And it works, doesn’t it?” I chuckle. “You get to exist in this…perfectly curated illusion where your hands are always clean.”
“That is not what I—”
“It is,” I cut her off, stepping fully into her space now. “You don’t avoid responsibility. Youreshape ituntil it no longer touches you.”
For the first time, her silence isn’t effortless.
It’s strained.
“You call it neutrality. I call it hiding. If you actually let yourself see what your illusions are used for—if youfeltit—you’d have to admit you’re not separate from it. You’d have to admit you chose this.”
Her jaw tightens.
Barely.
But it’s there.
“And that would ruin your perfect little reality, wouldn’t it?” I tilt my head, holding her gaze. “The one where you’re never the villain. Never the cause. Never the one who should’ve said no.”
The air between us goes still and heavy.
“You don’t live in truth. You live in a version of it that’s easier to survive.” My voice slices clean through the quiet. “And one day, that version is going to crumble and you will have to face it. I’m going to make sure of it.”
My power hums through my body as a hush descends over us once again. This time, it doesn’t feel like she’s choosing to stay silent.
It feels like she’s stuck in it.
My pulse pounds.
“Which is exactly why I don’t want your help,” I add. Ellian shifts from side to side, but I don’t look at him. I don’t soften.
“I don’t even know what it is you believe I could’ve provided you,” she says.
“Your reach. Your power. Your signature. It doesn’t matter, though. I see where you stand, and it doesn’t align with us.”
