The fragile stir that had given them hope did not bloom into strength, nor did it rise with the certainty Elara had clung to, but flickered instead like a dying ember caught between breath and absence, as though the world itself could not decide whether to hold Sarah or release her.
Elara felt it immediately, that faint twitch not followed by motion, that fragile thread not strengthening but thinning, her chest tightening as the realization crept in without mercy, without delay.
Her fingers tightened around Sarah's hand, not harshly, but with a quiet desperation that sought to anchor what continued to slip beyond her reach.
The warmth remained, yet it had changed, no longer steady but uneven, as though the life beneath her skin had begun to falter in rhythm, to hesitate where it once endured.
"…don't go," she whispered, her voice trembling despite the control she tried to maintain, her gaze fixed upon her sister's face as though she could hold her there through sheer will.
