The neon teal and gold light of the basin pulsed against the mist, casting long, wavering shadows across the churned mud. My chest felt hollow, like a frame stripped of its canvas, but I planted my boots firmly in the sludge. I wasn’t going to collapse. I was done being the fragile, sleeping thing that needed to be shielded from the truth.
I looked at Seth, his silhouette stark and unmoving against the impossible light.
"I was going to do it, you know," I said, my voice low, scraping against the roar of the waterfall. "For the last two weeks, I’ve been living in the wreckage of these memories—these lives you seem so obsessed with archiving—and I had already made my choice. I accepted it. I knew I was the conduit, I knew the land was dying, and I knew my grandmother was running low on ene
