Cassidy tried to sit up.
Her body disagreed immediately.
The cast held her like a verdict—ribs, shoulder, torso—locked in place so thoroughly that even the attempt sent a sharp, useless pain skittering through her chest.
Thane's good hand pressed lightly at her shoulder.
"Stay down," he said. "Take it easy."
Cassidy blinked with her good eye, trying to make the room make sense.
White lights.
Machines.
Soft beeping that felt like mockery.
A smell like disinfectant and exhaustion.
And faces.
All of them too close. Too still. Too… watching.
Then she saw the smallest face.
Only inches away.
Elysia stared at her like Cassidy was a sunrise. Then she poked her ribs—right where it hurt most.
"You're awake!" Elysia announced. "You're welcome!"
Cassidy's expression twisted into confusion first, then irritation.
"What—what is—" she croaked, voice dry, "why are you touching me?"
Elysia paused as if this was new information.
Raya stepped forward, voice flat and unromantic.
"You're alive," she said. "Good."
Cassidy's gaze snapped to the woman.
Not a soldier. Not a medic. Not anyone Cassidy recognized.
Then Cassidy looked back at the room—at the entire group—and the way they were looking at her made her stomach turn.
Allium stared like he was counting her breaths.
Rose had both hands near her mouth, as if she was afraid any movement might disturb the fact that Cassidy was still here.
Jax wore something close to a smile—small relief trying to pretend it wasn't relief.
Hawk looked lost. Horribly confused. Like he'd stepped into a conversation already halfway finished.
Weaver wasn't looking at Cassidy at all. His eyes kept drifting to Elysia, like he was trying to name what she was without asking out loud.
Cassidy swallowed.
"Why are you guys looking at me like I'm dead," she rasped, "and how am I not dead?"
Jax stepped closer, careful, like approaching an animal that might bolt.
"Your pulse was weak," he said. "Real weak. Nobody was sure you'd pull through."
Cassidy's brow furrowed.
"I shouldn't have," she whispered. "I didn't see this. I shouldn't be here."
She blinked once, processing the words as they left her mouth.
"Not that I'm complaining," she added quickly, as if the universe might overhear.
Raya didn't soften.
"You're right," she said. "You have my daughter to thank for that."
She nodded once toward Elysia, who beamed like she'd been handed a trophy.
"And the Balance Keeper," Raya continued, eyes sliding to Allium, "placing ley directly into your chest."
Cassidy's attention snapped down to her wrist.
The Mark.
Still burning.
Still upset.
Its pulse felt wrong now that she was awake—angry, erratic, like a tool overheating in her hand.
Raya noticed immediately.
Her gaze dipped, and her voice sharpened into something clinical.
"You passed the trial," she said quietly. "I saw you."
Cassidy looked up, incredulous.
"I couldn't believe another exists," Raya added—more to herself than anyone else.
Cassidy stared at her.
"Woman," Cassidy said hoarsely, "I don't know who you are. And another what?"
Raya lifted her own wrist.
A mark glowed there too.
An exact mirror of Cassidy's shape—same foundation, same signature—but calmer. Sturdier. More lines, more structure, like it had been forged with patience instead of desperation.
"You wear the mark of a forger," Raya said.
Cassidy's throat tightened.
Raya held Cassidy's gaze, unblinking.
"You've been using your abilities wrong."
A flash of memory hit Cassidy hard—pain, heat, the sensation of her mind splitting into two possible endings like a blade forced into a knot.
Cassidy swallowed through it.
"So you're saying my gift wasn't supposed to see the future?"
Raya shook her head once.
"No." Her tone turned colder, not cruel—just absolute. "And this is no gift, Cassidy. This is responsibility."
Cassidy's breathing started to shorten.
Not on purpose.
Not dramatic.
Her chest simply refused full air for a moment, as if the conversation had found a handhold in her ribs and squeezed.
Raya continued anyway, unbothered.
"You've been forcing future into a sigil only meant to shape matter," she said. "Nothing more."
Cassidy stared at her like she'd been slapped without impact.
Jax's patience broke.
"Can you just explain what this is," he demanded, "and why you're here?"
Raya turned to him.
Her expression didn't change, but something in her eyes did—an ancient irritation, cultural and quiet, the kind that came from being spoken to like a subordinate.
"I am no answer machine," she said. "I am an aspect of Virel."
The room shifted around that sentence.
Weaver stepped forward before anyone else could react, voice steady.
"Raya has been on this planet for many years," he said. "She was reshaped by Virel."
Allium's head tilted.
"If you knew her," Allium asked, restrained but sharp, "why didn't you say anything? We could've had help with Rose's and Cassidy's trial."
Raya didn't look at Allium when she answered.
She looked at Weaver.
"I don't help people pass a trial," she said. "Only what comes after."
Then, with effortless cruelty disguised as fact:
"I wouldn't have helped," she added. "And I have no interest helping him."
Weaver's jaw tightened.
"I am not his creator," he snapped. "Stop implying that."
Raya let out a small, almost amused laugh—subtle, not warm.
"Wow," she said. "Taking responsibility after all this time? After Kyros?"
Weaver's threads trembled faintly in the air, like the room itself had tensed.
Rose stepped between them.
"Hold on," she said, calm but firm. "This is not helping."
Cassidy exhaled, breath still short, still clipped.
"Can you just answer why you're here now?" she asked.
Elysia chimed in brightly from her perch, as if the entire room wasn't on the edge of becoming violence.
"It's obvious, silly!" Elysia said. "You're gonna be a forger for Virel!"
Cassidy stared at her.
Then shook her head once, slow and disbelieving.
"I didn't ask for that," she said. "I have no interest in that. This is way too sudden."
Raya's eyes didn't move.
"No one ever does," she said, staying on task like a blade staying on a grindstone. "But you need to."
Cassidy's pulse spiked. The monitors told on her immediately.
Raya leaned slightly closer.
"Don't you feel the purpose?" Raya asked. "What is it that you do in life, Cassidy?"
Cassidy swallowed, breath still refusing to deepen.
"I invent," she said. "Fix."
Raya's mouth lifted by a fraction—not kindness. Recognition.
"You were born for this," she said. "It fits all too well."
Then her voice hardened again.
"And with honing," she added, "your mind will shatter if misused too many times."
Cassidy's breath shortened even more.
Her chest tightened.
Not fear exactly—something worse.
The sense of being seen too clearly while trapped in plaster.
Nina moved instantly.
"That's enough," Nina said, voice sharp. "I need to help her."
She stepped past Raya without permission and began adjusting Cassidy's monitors, checking her breathing, grounding her with routine like routine could hold back destiny.
As Nina worked, the others began filtering out of the room, the air still thick with the aftertaste of Raya's words.
Raya's gaze tracked one person as they moved.
Hawk.
Recognition flickered across her face.
"Hawk?" she said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"
Hawk stiffened, like being named by someone who shouldn't know you.
Raya's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Does this mean my student is here as well?" she asked.
Hawk's voice came careful.
"I'm here to help Jax," he said. "Assist."
He glanced at Jax, then back to Raya, choosing his next words like they were explosives.
"Yes," he added, "Sable is here. Conducting an interview with our captive."
Raya's posture sharpened.
"What captive?"
Hawk's mouth tightened.
"I am not at liberty to share."
Raya's gaze stayed on him—quiet suspicion rising into place.
Not anger.
Not fear.
Attention.
The kind that meant something had just shifted again.
Behind the glass, Cassidy lay trapped in her cast, breathing short, staring at her wrist as the Mark pulsed like it wanted to be used—and knowing now, for the first time, that she had never been using it correctly at all.