The room smelled faintly of sweat and jasmine. The sheets were tangled and damp, kicked half loose from the mattress.

  Marisol y on her back, one arm draped above her head, her braid undone and dark hair fanned across the pillow. Her breathing had slowed, but her skin still glowed with warmth. Beside her, Liora stretched zily, every line of her body loose now where earlier it had been coiled tight as wire.

  For a while neither spoke.

  The only sound was fabric shifting and the soft settling creak of the bed as they moved closer without thinking.

  “You look pleased with yourself,” Marisol murmured, eyes still half-closed.

  Liora rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand. A crooked grin tugged at her mouth.

  “Shouldn’t I? You came twice.”

  Marisol ughed under her breath, the sound low and warm.“Once is survival. Twice is skill.”

  “‘Skill,’” Liora repeated, mock offense rising. “I’d say that was a damn fine performance.”

  Marisol opened her eyes and turned her head, studying her.“Performance means you were leading.”

  Her fingers brushed lightly along Liora’s shoulder, slow and absentminded.

  “You weren’t,” she said gently. “You were listening.”

  Liora’s grin lingered a moment — then softened.She didn’t argue.

  Instead she looked away, up toward the ceiling.

  Her voice, when it came again, had lost its swagger.

  “I keep thinking about it.”

  Marisol already knew. “The summons.”

  Liora nodded faintly.

  “The Room.”

  The air shifted.

  Marisol turned onto her side, closer now, her hand pushing a damp strand of hair away from Liora’s temple. She didn’t tease this time.

  “And what do you imagine happens there?” she asked quietly.

  Liora swallowed.

  “That I fight. That I don’t bend.” Her fingers tightened in the sheet. “That he tries to take something and I stop him.”

  She hesitated.

  “But Noa says it won’t be like that. She says… you don’t even notice when it changes.”

  Marisol’s expression softened — not pity, not kindness, but recognition.

  “Noa believes the Room heals,” she said.“I know the Room reveals.”

  Liora’s eyes flicked back to hers.

  Marisol’s thumb traced slowly along her jaw.

  “It isn’t a battle,” she said. “No one pins you. No one breaks you. That’s why it works.”

  Liora frowned slightly. “Then what happens?”

  Marisol held her gaze.

  “You run out of reasons to hold yourself together.”

  The words sat heavy.

  Liora’s throat tightened. “You think I’ll just… give in?”

  Marisol shook her head gently.

  “No,” she said softly.“You’ll recognize something.”

  Her voice lowered.

  “And you’ll realize you were the one clinging — not him taking.”

  Liora stared at her, conflicted, defensive instinct flickering… and failing to fully ignite.

  “And you think he’ll catch me?”

  Marisol’s smile returned — but this time it wasn’t pyful. It was certain.

  “He won’t have to chase you,” she said.“You’ll walk in already tired of fighting yourself.”

  The words struck deeper than Liora expected. She didn’t pull away.

  Instead she leaned forward, resting her forehead against Marisol’s.

  A whisper.

  “Then let him try.”

  For once Marisol didn’t ugh.

  She kissed her slowly — not to provoke, not to cim, but to steady her — and let the silence hold the answer she wouldn’t yet give.