Edian sat stiffly in front of the Elders, their piercing gazes weighing down on him. The room was silent, thick with an unspoken judgment he wasn’t ready to face.

Finally, one of them—an older man with graying temples and a severe expression—leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “Tell me,” he said, voice dangerously calm. “How. Stupid. Can you be?”

Edian bristled immediately, sitting up straighter. “What? What was I supposed to do?” His voice was defensive, bordering on indignant. “She just—she just dumped all that on me. What was I supposed to say? Was I supposed to lie to her?”

The Elders exchanged looks, a mixture of disbelief and frustration.

“Lie?” Another scoffed. “You think this is about lying?”

Edian clenched his jaw, heat creeping up his neck. “I didn’t ask for that,” he shot back. “I didn’t ask her to—I don’t know—expect something from me. I didn’t know she’d—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply.

The first Elder shook his head, disapproving. “You were supposed to know. You were supposed to understand what she was giving you.” His gaze darkened. “And you threw it away.”

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Edian’s fingers curled into fists. “It’s not my fault,” he muttered.

The Elder’s eyes sharpened. “No? Then whose fault is it?”

Edian had no answer.

*

The cabin was eerily quiet. It had been that way ever since Lilia had come back, retreating into herself, barely speaking.

Miniet sat on the bunk across from her, tapping her fingers against the mattress, her usual spark dimmed. “I swear, if I see him, I’m gonna break his face.”

Silas, seated beside her, sighed, rubbing his hands together. “And what good would that do?”

Miniet shot him a glare. “Maybe nothing, but it’d make me feel better.”

Julian, leaning against the bedpost, shook his head. “Focus.” His voice was softer than usual. “We need to help her.”

Lilia hadn’t moved for hours. Her body was there, curled up under the blanket, but her mind—her self—felt impossibly far away.

Liam, who had been sitting on the floor, exhaled and climbed onto Lilia’s bed, shifting carefully so she didn’t startle her. She placed a hand on her arm, a quiet reminder that she wasn’t alone.

Miniet followed, squeezing Lilia’s shoulder. “You’re not gonna disappear on us,” she muttered.

Silas stayed back at first, uncertain, but after a moment, he sighed and placed Lilia’s favorite snack—honeycomb—on the nightstand. “Just in case,” he murmured.

They didn’t ask anything of her. Didn’t push. They just were.

And slowly, piece by piece, she surfaced.

When she finally looked up at them, it was like seeing someone else entirely.

Her once bright, sunny-blue eyes were shattered glass.