Lila
The chamber doesn’t rush me.
That’s the cruelest part.
The symbol beneath my foot burns steadily now, not flaring, not threatening—just waiting. Patient. Certain. Like it knows I’ll speak eventually.
Damien stands behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, the tension in the air where his control is stretched thin. He hasn’t moved. Hasn’t tried to stop this.
He’s letting me choose.
The presence presses again, quieter this time.
Speak.
I swallow hard.
The truth rises fast—sharp and unwelcome—but I force myself not to look at Damien when I say it. If I do, I might soften it. I might lie.
“I didn’t leave because you rejected me,” I say.
The chamber stills.
The silver light tightens, attentive.
“I left because part of me believed you were right.”
The words land
