Chapter 40: The AffirmationsThe water fell harder now, or perhaps Camille simply felt it more—the weight of it on her bare skin, the pressure she could not escape. Her body shook, not from cold, but from the war inside her.

  Celeste’s hand moved first, gliding down Camille’s wet shoulder, then fttening firmly over her heart. The warmth of her palm anchored through the rush of water. “You exist even without being needed,” she whispered, steady and deliberate.

  Camille’s breath hitched as if struck. Her chest rose sharply beneath Celeste’s hand, every instinct in her screaming. No. Wrong. I was only ever what I gave. The strategist, the unseen architect. Needed was all I had. But her body betrayed her, pressing faintly against the weight of Celeste’s palm, as though aching to be steadied.

  Marisol stepped closer, her presence like shadow and fme. Her fingers brushed Camille’s damp hip before settling at her waist, firm enough to hold her upright. “You belong here,” she said, voice low, vibrating through the heat. “Not because of your name. Not because of what you can offer. You belong if you accept it.”

  The word cracked something inside Camille. Accept? She clenched her jaw, her thoughts unraveling. If I accept, I lose. If I yield, I am nothing. But if I resist, I will remain outside, always knocking, always unseen. She trembled harder, every muscle in her abdomen tightening beneath Marisol’s grip, her chest shuddering under Celeste’s hand. Her lips parted, but no words came.

  Celeste pressed firmer against her sternum, the pressure demanding not surrender of body, but surrender of silence. “Say it,” she urged, her voice cutting through the hiss of water. “Say you exist. Say it out loud.”

  Camille shook her head, eyes squeezed shut. Inside, her thoughts cshed like steel. If I say it, I admit weakness. If I stay silent, I vanish in their eyes. Which is worse? Which is safer?

  Marisol’s grip at her waist tightened, pulling her just slightly against her, grounding her trembling frame. Her breath was hot against Camille’s ear as she spoke. “Say it, or we will keep asking. The only way out is through.”

  The demand hit like a strike. Camille’s chest heaved, water dripping from her shes. She gasped out, broken, trembling: “I don’t know how.”

  The confession echoed louder in her bones than the words themselves. Celeste’s hand didn’t move, but her tone softened, threading steadiness through Camille’s unraveling. “Then we’ll teach you.”

  Marisol leaned closer still, her hand at Camille’s waist a tether. “We’ll hold you until you can.”

  Camille’s body sagged against them both, every line of her frame trembling under the weight of admission. Her mind screamed weakness even as another part whispered relief. For the first time in years, she had said the words she swore she’d never let pass her lips. And still, the world hadn’t ended.