Hunger does not end with screaming.
It ends with recognition.
⸻
The sky does not fall.
It folds inward, a collapsing cathedral of void and bleeding shadow, bending toward the tiny hand raised from Zane’s arms.
The Predator’s body—the wounded god of absence—thrashes against a lattice it no longer understands.
Because the lattice is no longer a prison.
It has become
an undoing.
Jason clutches the stone floor as equations on his arrays resolve into a shape that should not exist.
“It’s not killing the Predator,” he whispers.
“It’s killing the idea of it.”
Zane holds our child tighter.
“That was their choice.”
⸻
High above, Virexa staggers as the sky warps around her.
Her shadow-crown fractures.
Her stolen coherence flickers.
“Stop,” she commands the child, voice sharp, cracki
