"This isn't real," she said, sharper this time.
"No," the child answered.
And for a moment it sounded almost kind.
"But it is true."
The light drained. The warmth disappeared entirely.
And what remained was nothing but clarity.
No distortion. No illusion. No comfort.
Only the decision.
"Proceed," the voice returned. "Or withdraw."
No pressure. No coercion. No manipulation.
Only truth.
If she walked away now, nothing would follow her. No punishment. No consequence. No mark. Everything above would remain untouched.
If she stayed, she would take.
And something of hers would be lost beyond recovery.
Maya looked at them. At Thomas. At her parents. At the child. At everything that stood before her, whole, intact, still within reach.
For a moment her hand lifted. Just slightly. As though reaching. As though some part of her still remembered how.
Then it stopped.
Her expression settled into something quiet. Not hardened. Not emotional. Just certain.
