Butter stood frozen in the doorway, her throat too tight.

  What do you say to someone who’s leaving?

  What do you say when you’ve waited too long?

  CRASH.

  Mango barreled past her, swinging the door wide, her voice too cheerful, too brittle:

  "Hey Brad! Butter’s here to see you! She’s alive!"

  The words rang like a bell in the silence. Brad’s eyelids fluttered. Then, he smiled. It was faint, cracked, but undeniably his.

  And then just like that Butter remembered how to breathe.

  Lóng Yán rose from his chair, the wood groaning in relief as his massive frame unfolded. He placed a hand on Mango’s shoulder, gentle, despite the strength in those tattoo-less arms.

  "Come," he murmured, his voice rough with unspoken grief.

  Mango opened her mouth to protest, but one look at Brad, at the way his eyes never left Butter, and she swallowed her words. With a last, wobbly smile, she let Lóng Yán guide her out, the door clicking shut behind them.

  As the heavy oak door clicked shut behind them, Mango's cheerful grin shattered like glass. A single, shuddering breath escaped her lips, then another, wet and ragged. Her hand dove into the pocket of her brightly colored jacket, closing around a small, worn felt rabbit, one ear slightly bent, the stitching frayed. Brad had won it for her at a festival, knocking over ridiculously heavy bottles with a lazy, confident smile while she cheered him on.

  She clutched it now as if it were a lifeline, pressing her forehead against the cool wall, her fists clenching and unclenching around it at her sides.

  "Stupid, stupid, stupid," she whispered to herself, tears splashing onto her pineapple earrings, the vibrant yellow metal now dull with grief.

  Then, in a voice so small it barely existed:

  "I’m gonna miss him." A pause. A shaky breath. "He was my best friend."

  Her fingers tightened around the toy. "He... made me feel safe." Another breath. A tear hit the floor.

  "He never hit me."

  And then, she broke. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just a crack in the center of her soul, a fracture so deep it changed the shape of her, the little felt rabbit soaked and trembling in her grasp.

  Lóng Yán didn’t move. He just let the silence hold her, because some grief is too big for words. Some grief doesn’t fit inside a person. Some grief leaves a hole in the universe.

  Lóng Yán's calloused hand, once marked by ink but now bare, settled on Mango's trembling shoulder. Not pulling, not pushing, just anchoring.

  "Let it out, little blossom," he rumbled, his voice like distant thunder over mountains. "Even the sun must weep before it rises again."

  He didn't hug her. Didn't tell her it would be okay. Simply stood as an unshakable presence while her small frame shook with sobs, his shadow swallowing hers as he led her down the gilded hallway, one heavy step at a time, away from death, toward whatever came after.

  Silence.

  ///

  Butter stood at the bedside, rubbing her arm, her fingers tracing the fresh scars from the battle. The air between them was thick with everything unsaid, the weight of months apart, of hurt, of regret.

  "Heard you beat Maze," Brad said, voice threadbare but warm. "That’s... impossible." A weak chuckle. "No offense."

  Butter’s lips twitched, just a little. "Oh, none taken. She definitely would’ve fried me like chips if I hadn't gotten a power-up."

  Brad’s eyebrows lifted. "You got a power-up?"

  "Yeah. I’m at twenty-percent now. Lucien-" She cut herself off, shaking her head. "Wait, let’s not talk about me. How are you-" She faltered, horrified. "Well, I mean, you’re dying, that’s a stupid question to ask. Um. I’m sorry. For... everything."

  The words tumbled out, clumsy and raw.

  Brad’s eyes darkened, his fingers twitching against the sheets. "No. I’m sorry. I caused Winter’s death. I manipulated you into liking me."

  Butter flinched, but then she reached for his hand, her grip tight, as if she could anchor him to this world.

  "It wasn’t your fault," she whispered. "The rune. The Syndicate of the Magpies. It was all them. And..." She swallowed, tears finally breaking free, tracing silver lines down her cheeks. "You didn’t need the rune to manipulate me into liking you. I already did."

  Brad stilled. Then, he cried.

  Not the quiet, dignified tears of a soldier, but great, heaving sobs, his body shaking with the force of them. His hand rose, trembling, to wipe her tears away, his thumb rough against her skin.

  "I thought," he gasped, "I never thought a girl like you would like someone like me. I’m nothing-"

  Butter kissed him.

  It was soft, desperate, nothing like the fierce warrior she was. Brad froze, then melted, his fingers tangling in her hair as he kissed her back, as if he could pour every unsaid word into that single touch.

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  When they parted, they stayed close, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling.

  Butter climbed into the bed beside him, curling against his side, her head on his too-thin chest. His heartbeat was faint, irregular, but it was there.

  They talked. About nothing. About everything.

  She told him about her new creatures, the ones she could summon now: the meerkats, the stingray, the kangaroo, the octopus. He laughed, weak but real, at her impression of Maze’s shocked face when the swarm overtook her.

  "And that's not all," she said, a spark of her old fire returning to her eyes. "A bullet train on the eastern line had a total systems failure. I sensed it from miles away. It was going to derail. Full carriages."

  Brad's eyes, which had been half-lidded with exhaustion, widened. "A train? Butter... that's..."

  "I ran it down," she said, her voice a mix of pride and residual awe at her own power. "Just... ran. I feel way lighter now, faster. I was there in a second. I matched its speed. Then I got ahead of it and... stopped it."

  She held up a single pale hand, palm out, mimicking the action.

  Brad stared at her, his breath catching. The sheer scale of it, the speed, the mass, the force required, was incomprehensible. It was a feat of raw, world-breaking power. A slow, amazed smile touched his cracked lips. "You... what?."

  Butter nodded, a proud, tired smirk on her face. "Didn't even break a sweat. Well, maybe a little. Had to hold everyone inside in place, too. Summoned the octopus. A big one. Tentacles, that's what I named him. It was... a lot." She left out the rest. The face in the window. The ghost that looked like Winter. He carried enough guilt; he didn't need a phantom.

  His hand found hers, his grip surprisingly strong. "You're a miracle, Butter. A real-life miracle."

  Butter’s smile trembled. He looked like this. She held her hand palm-up. The air shimmered, and light coalesced into the familiar blue, fuzzy cover of her sketchbook: The Aria. It solidified in her grasp, a part of her made manifest. She opened it, her fingers flipping past pages filled with dynamic sketches of gray meerkats, a sleek dark stingray, and a powerfully built yellow kangaroo-rabbit, before finding a new, freshly inked page.

  She turned it for him to see.

  It was Tentacles. Rendered in stunning detail with sweeping strokes of black ink, the octopus was a creature of both immense power and gentle intelligence. Its tentacles were depicted mid-movement, some bracing against a sketched-in train wall, others coiled protectively around stylized, anonymous figures. She had even captured the wet, shimmering light on its skin and the deep, knowing look in its large eyes.

  Brad stared at the drawing, his breath catching. It was one thing to hear about it; it was another to see the impossible creature she had pulled from her soul, immortalized in her own hand. A slow, amazed smile touched his cracked lips. "You... you stopped a bullet train. With your hands. And then you saved them all with... with this." His finger hovered over the page, not touching, as if the ink might still be alive. "It's beautiful."

  Butter’s smile was a little brighter this time, a artist's pride cutting through the grief. She let the sketchbook vanish back into its pocket dimension. She looked at him, really looked at him, at the familiar curve of his smile, the trust in his eyes, the admiration. She leaned in until her forehead rested against his.

  A comfortable silence settled between them, filled only by the sound of their breathing. Brad’s eyes were drifting closed again, but he fought it, his fingers tightening weakly around hers. With a painstakingly slow movement, his other hand fumbled in the pocket of his jeans, his movements were clumsy, but after a moment, he pulled something out.

  A single, green gummy worm.

  It was slightly flattened, its sugar coating a little dull with age, but unmistakably preserved.

  Butter’s eyes widened, then softened into a frown of disbelief. "You... you kept it?"

  He let out a weak, breathy smile, his eyes glistening. It was the one she had given him the day they'd first met. He nodded, a small, tired motion.

  "But... why didn't you eat it?" she whispered, her voice thick.

  A ghost of his old, charming smirk touched his lips. "I don't like gummy worms," he rasped. "Only the green ones."

  Butter stared at the little green worm, then back at his face, her brow furrowed in confusion. "But... that's green. Why didn't you eat it?"

  His gaze held hers, all traces of weakness burning away for one last, moment of perfect clarity. "Because," he said, his voice barely a whisper, but filled with an impossible weight. " gave it to me."

  The words settled in the space between them, not as a memory, but as a final, perfect truth. In the silence they created, Butter felt it. A shift in the air. A hollowness creeping in. Too soon. Her magic sensed the end before it came.

  "Sleep," she whispered, pressing closer, fresh tears falling down her face.

  Brad tried to protest, but she hugged him tighter, her arms locking around him, as if she could keep death at bay through sheer will.

  He obeyed. A last, lingering kiss to her forehead.

  A sigh. Then silence. Butter didn’t move. She still couldn't process it.

  She stayed there, her tears soaking into the sheets, until the morning became noon, until the room warmed, until the only sound was her own broken whispers:

  "I loved you. I loved you. I loved you."

  ///

  Butter lay curled against Brad’s still-warm chest, her tears pooling in the hollow of his collarbone, her fingers clenched in the fabric of his shirt. The room was silent now, no breath, no heartbeat, just the distant ticking of a clock somewhere down the hall.

  Then a voice like ice cracking over a void:

  "One wish."

  It slithered into her skull, unmistakable. Maze. Butter jerked upright, her eyes wild, scanning the shadows. Nothing.

  But the voice pressed in, amused, intimate:

  "You know the rules, little sister. One wish. Anything. Even..." a pause, deliberate, "...."

  Her gaze snapped back to Brad’s face. His lashes dark against pale skin, his lips parted slightly, as if he’d merely paused mid-sentence.

  "Just say the word, little sister. One breath. One heartbeat returned. What could be simpler?"

  Butter’s hands shook. A wish. A second chance. A way to undo this.

  She opened her mouth. Then stopped. Anything had a price. And Maze would collect hers. Her throat closed.

  She’d almost forgotten her original, desperate reason for seeking a wish, to bring someone else back. A wave of shame washed over her, hot and sudden. Then her eyes darted to the rune on Brad’s chest. Even in death, it pulsed with a faint, stubborn light, still trying to ensure its host’s survival.

  A cold, terrible understanding washed over her. Maze knew. This was why she had made Butter wait, dangling the promise of a wish. She had known Brad was going to die. Maze had known exactly what Butter would have begged for then.

  "He kept your candy," Maze's voice purred, laced with mocking pity. "Such a small, sweet, pathetic thing. And you let him die with it in his palm. You have the power to stop a train, but you couldn't stop this? One word, little sister. Undo your failure."

  But Butter was smarter now. She had seen the cost of power, felt the weight of a life built on miracles and loss. She was not going to play this game, to dance on Maze's strings for her entertainment. She wasn't that desperate girl anymore.

  "Tick-tock," Maze whispered, the sound slithering through the silence. "Just make the wish. Let me free you from this pain."

  Butter’s hands, which had been shaking, stilled. She looked from Brad’s peaceful face to the empty space where Maze’s voice lived. A profound clarity settled over her, cold and clean.

  "Pain is not a cage," Butter said, her voice low but absolute, cutting through the psychic static. "It's what it means to be alive. To have loved. You cannot free me from it. You can only hollow me out. Leave here at once."

  The silence that followed was different. It was no longer anticipatory, but rejected. Defied.

  And then she was gone. Truly gone. Leaving Butter alone, with a corpse, and a choice she had already made. A choice that would not haunt her, but define her forever.