Chapter Sixty

The cracks were getting worse.

Celeste could feel them.

Not just on her skin—but inside her.

Every breath felt heavier. Every moment felt stretched thin, as if time itself was warning her that it was running out. She sat on the floor of Elowen's study, her back against Amelia's chest, feeling the warmth of her presence, the way her arms wrapped around her tightly—desperately.

Nathaniel stood nearby, his usual composed expression strained with something she had never seen before. Fear.

Elowen's fingers were pressed against Celeste's wrist, tracing the golden fractures that had spread up her arm, nearly reaching her shoulder. The glow pulsed weakly, like the dying embers of a fire.

"She's slipping," Elowen murmured.

"No." Amelia's voice was raw. "There has to be a way."

"There is no spell to undo what has already begun." Elowen pulled back, shaking her head. "She wasn't meant to be here this long."

Celeste swallowed hard, feeling the weight of those words settle into her chest like a stone.

Nathaniel exhaled sharply. "We knew this was a risk," he said, his voice carefully measured. "The magic that brought her here was never meant to last forever."

Amelia turned to him sharply. "Then we'll make it last."

Nathaniel's gaze softened. "Magic isn't about what we want. It's about what is."

Amelia clenched her jaw, but Celeste could feel the slight tremor in her hands as she held onto her. "No. She's real. She belongs here."

Celeste took a shaky breath. "Amelia…"

"Don't." Amelia's grip tightened. "Don't say goodbye. Don't act like this is over. We will find a way."

But Celeste wasn't sure if there was a way.

She could feel it—the pull, the unraveling of her very existence. The universe was trying to reclaim her, and this time, she didn't think she could fight it.

But she wanted to.

God, she wanted to.

She turned her head slightly, enough to look at Amelia—the girl who had saved her, the girl who had loved her, the girl who had made her feel more alive than anything else ever had.

"I don't want to go," Celeste whispered, her voice barely audible.

Amelia's face crumpled. "Then stay."

Celeste reached up, pressing a trembling hand to Amelia's cheek. She could feel the wetness there, the silent tears Amelia had been fighting back.

"I love you," Celeste murmured.

A sob broke from Amelia's throat. "Then don't leave me."

But the cracks had already reached her collarbone.

Elowen's hands were glowing with soft, golden energy, trying to slow the process, but even she looked resigned. The room was quiet, save for the sound of Amelia's uneven breaths.

Celeste closed her eyes.

She tried to hold on.

To this moment. To Amelia's touch. To the feeling of being here.

But then—

The world shifted.

The pain wasn't sharp. It wasn't sudden. It was slow, gentle—like falling into a deep sleep. She could hear Amelia calling her name, could feel the way her hands shook against her skin.

And then—

There was nothing.

No weight. No pain. No sound.

Just light.

Soft. Warm. Endless.

She wasn't sure how long she drifted there, wrapped in golden emptiness. Seconds? Minutes? A lifetime?

But then—

A voice.

Not her own. Not Amelia's.

Someone else.

"You fought hard."

Celeste turned, and there she was.

The woman from before.

The dream girl.

Or maybe… she had been Celeste all along.

"Is this it?" Celeste asked quietly. "Is this the end?"

The woman smiled, a gentle, knowing expression. "That's up to you."

Celeste frowned. "I thought I didn't have a choice."

The woman took a step closer. "Not in staying. But in what comes next."

Celeste hesitated. "…What does come next?"

The woman simply reached out her hand.

Celeste stared at it.

And then—she understood.

This wasn't an ending.

It was the beginning.

She exhaled, steadying herself. She wasn't afraid anymore.

She took the woman's hand.

And the light swallowed her whole.

—

The apartment was quiet.

Amelia sat on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, staring at the empty canvas in front of her.

She hadn't touched her brushes in days.

Hadn't wanted to.

The city moved on without her, the world continued to spin, but for Amelia—everything had stopped.

She hadn't gone back to the warehouse. Hadn't returned to Elowen's study. Hadn't spoken much to Nathaniel, who lingered in the background, watching her with quiet understanding.

Nothing felt real anymore.

Because Celeste was gone.

Amelia closed her eyes.

She had fought so hard. Had believed so much. But in the end, even belief hadn't been enough.

Her fingers clenched against her arms.

And then—

A brush of air.

Soft. Barely there.

Like fingertips ghosting over her skin.

Amelia's eyes snapped open.

The candle on the coffee table flickered. The air shifted.

Her breath caught.

And then, slowly—

So, so slowly—

The canvas in front of her changed.

A single stroke of paint, appearing as if by magic.

Faint at first. Then another. And another.

Amelia's pulse pounded in her ears.

The shape formed—delicate, familiar. The outline of a hand.

Of her hand.

Amelia's breath shuddered.

And then—

A whisper.

Soft. Distant.

But real.

"I'm still here."