Liora did not move.
Not because she couldn't.
Not because something was stopping her.
But because for the first time since this began—
She didn't trust the difference between choosing to move… and simply moving.
The words still lingered.
They hadn't faded. They hadn't weakened. They didn't echo or repeat themselves, but they remained present in a way that felt unnatural, as though they had been placed inside her mind instead of formed within it.
Then decide faster.
It wasn't the tone that unsettled her.
It wasn't even the meaning, because she wasn't even sure of what it meant.
But it was the certainty.
The assumption that she would act.
That she should act.
Her breathing slowed, but it didn't feel entirely under her control. It wasn't irregular. It wasn't forced. It was steady—too steady, as though something had already aligned it for her.
That was worse.
Because it meant there was no resistance.
Only agreement.
"…Liora."
