The jungle was quiet again.

  Too quiet.

  Selena walked ahead, boots silent over mossed roots, every movement rehearsed. Behind her — ten paces back — Jarrell followed like a shadow that hadn’t yet decided if it belonged.

  He hadn’t spoken in hours.

  She didn’t mind.

  But she noticed.

  A snap.

  Then another.

  A whistle cut through the trees — sharp and sudden.

  [SPEAKS]

  “MOVE—”

  A blast of air tore through the underbrush.

  The ground shattered.

  Selena flew sideways as a trio of beasts — fanged and horned, thick with brambles and bone-plated hides — burst from the smoke.

  Her staff came up on instinct, pulsing faintly with Conjuring residue.

  Jarrell vanished behind the impact, his silhouette lost to the explosion of vines and debris.

  She was alone.

  ---

  She ran.

  The beasts crashed behind her. Heavy. Relentless.

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  Claws scraped bark. Snouts sniffed blood.

  One lunged — she turned and fired a short-range arcane burst, clipping its shoulder. It howled but kept coming.

  She broke through underbrush. Slid down a moss-slick ravine. Climbed out. One boot slipped, and she fell, hitting dirt hard.

  Her staff cracked mid-shaft.

  She scrambled under a rotted tree root.

  Heart hammering.

  Breathing sharp.

  And then—

  Silence.

  Too much of it.

  ---

  Darkness crept in.

  Not the kind that stole light.

  The kind that stole **time**.

  She blinked and found herself in a room again.

  No jungle. No beasts. Just stone.

  Familiar stone.

  Wet. Cold.

  A hallway.

  Eight years old. Hands bound. Knees raw.

  Footsteps echoed. Laughter followed.

  A door creaked open.

  “Be good this time,” someone had said.

  She screamed.

  But the dream wouldn’t let sound out.

  She screamed again. And again.

  The memory didn’t care.

  It played once.

  Then again.

  Then again.

  Each loop peeling her open.

  There was no escape.

  No staff.

  No magic.

  Just **him**—the man who smiled when she cried.

  The man who taught her fear by naming it love.

  She begged her legs to move.

  They didn’t.

  The hallway never ended.

  Her voice never worked.

  Her strength never mattered.

  And just when the door opened for the last time—

  A voice.

  Not the dream’s.

  Not his.

  **[SPEAKS] (distant)**

  **“…Safe. Fight. I wait.”**

  A different tone.

  Rough. Grounded. Broken.

  And real.

  ---

  She gasped.

  The real world slammed back.

  Leaves above. Water in her mouth. Cold air slicing her skin.

  She blinked fast—eyes burning.

  Jarrell.

  Kneeling between her and a heap of slashed beast muscle.

  Blade steaming.

  Breathing slow.

  He didn’t speak.

  Didn’t reach.

  Her staff—rebuilt crudely—rested beside her.

  **[SPEAKS]**

  **“…Safe. You fight. I wait.”**

  She stared at him.

  Her hands trembled.

  The dream still clung to her skin.

  But he didn’t press.

  Didn’t prod.

  Just knelt.

  Waiting.

  Her heart began to pound.

  **[SFX: badump.]**

  **[SFX: badump.]**

  She looked down.

  Her satchel — untouched.

  Her cloak — straightened.

  A dagger — cleaned, placed by her hand.

  "...You came back?"

  He said nothing.

  Just blinked once.

  **[THOUGHTS]**

  He saw me broken.

  Didn’t flinch.

  Didn’t touch.

  Just waited.

  She pulled herself up slowly.

  Didn’t thank him.

  Didn’t speak.

  But didn’t walk away either.

  She sat beside him.

  Silent.

  While the jungle breathed