Chapter b213 /b

b*/bJiselle*

“You’re not watching her close enough.”

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Eva’s voice was calm, but I could hear the tension beneath it as she bent over the crib, her fingers hovering just above the baby’s glowing form. Moonlight filtered through the half–boarded window, touching the child’s cheeks like it, too, was unsure whether it had permission. She looked serene, as if she hadn’t been born in fire just two nights ago. As if she hadn’t screamed the world back into motion with a breath that shattered the Hollow–born.

I stood at the edge of the room, feeling like I didn’t belong to it. My own body still hadn’t recovered from the birth. I bled in pulses now–random, unsteady. My head spun when I stood too fast. My limbs trembled when I walked. But it wasn’t weakness that kept me still.

It was dread.

Because even now, the child hadn’t cried again. Not once.

And yet every time she blinked–just a slow, careful movement of those violet–gold eyes–I swore I felt something shift inside the world. Or maybe just inside me.

“She’s… sleeping,” I said, but the words felt foolish as soon as I said them.

“No,” Eva murmured. “She’s listening.”

The silence deepened. Eva didn’t move. Neither did the baby.

And then–she did.

Her small chest rose–not quickly, not sharply. But lifted in that strange, precise rhythm that didn’t quite feel natural.

A soft crack sounded from the corner of the room.

We both turned toward it.

At first I thought it was a trick of the firelight, the way shadows bent against stone. But then I saw it.

Her.

She was levitating.

Not high. Only an inch ior /itwo. The swaddle of woven ash that Nate had wrapped around her glowed where it touched her skin, humming with faint heat. Her limbs didn’t twitch. Her mouth didn’t open. She just… hovered.

Eva took a step back.

b7:34 /bbFri/bb, /bbSep /bb19 /b

“I-I didn’t touch her.”

“You don’t need to,” I said, slowly stepping forward.

:

The air had thickened. The warmth wasn’t the hearth anymore. It was her.

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I reached out, hand trembling, and cupped the space beneath her body–half–afraid I’d burn, half–convinced she wouldn’t fall.

Her weight settled into my palms with no effort at all. Like fire made flesh, light made solid.

The moment I touched her, her eyelids fluttered.

And then she looked at me.

Her eyes weren’t just bright.

They were knowing.

Like she wasn’t seeing me for the first time–but remembering me.

My legs nearly gave out.

“I don’t think she’s… I don’t think she’s only ours,” Eva whispered. “I think she belongs to something older.”

Before I could answer, the baby blinked once, then closed her eyes again.

The light dimmed. Her breathing deepened.

The room exhaled.

And I did tooi. /i

Until the smell hit me.

Burnt.

Sharp.

Like seared blood.

And underneath that–something else.

Smoke.

But not from firewood.

From skin.

Eva’s face paled. “Where’s Ethan?b” /b

b7:34 /bbFri/bb, /bbSep /bb19 /b

I didn’t answer.

Because I was already moving.

I found him in the corridor, curled up by the window.

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His shirt had scorch marks down the front. His fingertips were raw and red, trembling where they hovered above hisp. He didn’t look up when I dropped to my knees beside him.

But he didn’t need to.

I could feel it.

The wrongness.

The heat curling beneath his skin like it was alive. The way the air around him crackled, distorted.

And then I saw it.

His arm.

Burned ck from the elbow down.

And still smoldering.

“Ethan!” I grabbed his shoulders, shaking him hard enough that I heard his head thud against the wall.

He blinked. Slowly.

Then his eyes finally found mine.

“She’s in me.”

I froze.

“What?”

He choked out augh that wasn’t augh. More like a cough dipped in agony. “The Gate. I can feel it again. I thought she freed me, but she just opened it wider.”

“No.” I shook my head. “She saved you. We all saw it-”

He grabbed my wrist. His grip was blisteringly hot.

“She chose bme/b. And now it’s inside me. I can’t stop it, Jiselle. I can’t-” His breath caught. “I tried. I tried to

burn it out.”

My heart shattered in two directions at once–toward the boy I had grown beside and toward the twin whose soul was stitched into mine.

“You tried to what?” ia /ilow voice thundered from behind us.

Nate.

He didn’t wait for an answer.

He crossed the distance in two strides and drove his fist into Ethan’s jaw.

The blow echoed off the corridor walls. Ethan slumped sideways. Blood dripped from his lip.

“Nate!” I shouted, scrambling between them.

“He was going to kill himself,” Nate spat. “And for what? To protect her?”

“He’s not well-‘

“He’s dangerous.”

I stood taller, angling my body between them, even as my knees screamed. “He’s our family.”

“He’s a vessel!” Nate shouted.

The word echoed like a curse. And it stuck in the air between us.

Ethan didn’t defend himself. He wiped the blood from his mouth and said nothing.

Nate turned away, breathing hard, knuckles still clenched.

I didn’t want to see what was written on his face.

Because for the first time since the birth–I felt the divide.

I knelt beside Ethan again. He trembled, but this time not from fire. From something else. From grief.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice raw. “But I can feel her. In my blood. In my bones. And I don’t know where I end anymore.”

Before I could answer, Eva’s voice called from the nursery.

“Jiselle!”

I ran.

The baby had floated again.

Only this time–her whole body glowed.

Eva backed away slowly, her eyes locked on the child.

“She said something,” Eva whispered. “Or… I heard something. I don’t know if it was her voice. But it came the moment she opened her eyes.”

“What did it say?”

b7:34 /bFri, bSep /bb19 /b

Eva looked at me, stunned.

“She is fire… and memory.”

I stepped closer.

The baby bwas /bstill glowing–pulse–like, rhythmic.

I reached for her.

And that’s when the pain hit.

Sharp. Wet.

Low in my abdomen.

My hands flew to my stomach.

And came away red.

“No,” I breathed. “No, no, no—

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Another pulse of blood slipped down my thighs.

Nate caught me before I hit the floor.

“What’s happening?”

“I–I don’t know. I thought it was over. I thought-” I couldn’t breathe.

Because the glow from the baby’s body red brighter.

As if it were responding.

bAs /bif it knew.

“Get Bastain,” I gasped.

But Nate shook his head. “He left.”

“When?”

“Hours ago. Said he needed to find the council. To warn them.”

The child’s eyes opened again.

And the bleeding doubled.

bI /bcouldn’t scream.

Couldn’t think.

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7:35 Fri, Sep 19

Only felt the wetness pooling around me. The fire blooming in my ve

“She’s doing this,” Eva said softly. “Not to hurt you. But to save you.”

I couldn’t answer. My vision blurred.

Because somewhere deep inside my body–something cracked.

Like a seal breaking.

Like a memory unraveling.

And thest thing I saw before I lost consciousness-

Was my daughter’s face.

Lit from within.

Watching me.