Her breath hitched violently.
And then the first tear came.
Not of skin. Not of flesh. But of essence.
Maya felt it before she saw it. A shift. A pull within herself, answering something that did not originate from her. It was subtle at first, like the faintest pressure against her ribs, as though something long dormant had stirred in recognition of what was being drawn closer.
Across from her, the girl screamed.
The sound tore through the chamber, raw and unrestrained, her body collapsing inward as something invisible was pulled from her core. Light, faint, pale, and trembling, began to emerge from her chest, not bursting free, but unraveling slowly, strand by strand, as though it resisted even as it was taken.
The chamber held it. Did not interfere. Did not soften.
Because this was not violence in the way the world understood it.
This was exchange.
And exchange did not ask for mercy.
