Page 80 of The Threads Between

Lily helped me onto the bed. I didn't argue—that alone should have told her how far gone I was.

"Stay here," she said. "I'll get Beatrice."

She was gone before I could respond.

I lay back against the pillows, staring at the sloped ceiling. The pendant pulsed against my chest—not pain exactly, but presence. A constant reminder that I was not entirely my own. Had never been entirely my own. Father's right hand first. Then his prisoner and weapon. Now something caught between—aware enough to know I was trapped, strong enough to fight back, but not strong enough to win alone.

Voices drifted from the hallway below. Urgent conversation I could not quite make out.

Then footsteps on the stairs. More than one set.

I forced myself upright as the door opened.

Lily stood in the doorway, and behind her, Beatrice—moving as though each step required negotiation with a body that wanted to stop.

Beatrice's gaze found me immediately. Lingered long enough to see what I was trying to hide.

"How bad is it?" she asked quietly.

"Each second is a harder fight," I said.

And I saw it immediately in her expression. Fear.

"I . . . I do not believe I have the strength alone, Lily." She looked between us. "If I attempt this by myself, I shall fail. And you will both perish."

The words landed in the silence and stayed there.

"Then what—" Lily started.

"She will not do it alone."

A young voice came from the hall. Certain in a way youth often was before the world taught caution. Claire—the Weaver who had tended to Marigold with such careful hands. Behind her, others emerged from doorways, from shadows, gathering in the narrow corridor.

"We shall help," Claire said simply. "All of us."

Beth stepped forward, silver hair catching lamplight. "The bond you are attempting—it is not merely yours. It is ours as well. Our future rests upon it. Upon you." Her gaze found mine. "Upon a Threadbreaker who chose us over his father. Upon a Void Caller who survived what should have destroyed her. If your bond holds—if the pendant's corruption shatters—that alters everything."

Other Weavers murmured agreement. A few nodded. One smiled, hopeful in a way I had forgotten.

"So we help," Claire said again, lifting her chin. "However many it requires. We pool our strength. We hold the corruption at bay together." She looked at Beatrice. "You coordinate. Tell us what must be done. But you need not bear this alone."

Something in my chest tightened that had nothing to do with the pendant.

Twenty Weavers stood in a farmhouse hallway, offering to help me break free. Not because they owed me anything. Not because I had earned it. Because they had chosen to.

Beatrice pressed a hand briefly to her mouth. When she lowered it, her expression had steadied.

"It shall require absolute focus," she said. "If even one person's concentration falters⁠—"

"Then the rest shall hold," Beth said firmly. "That is what we do now. We hold. Together."

Beatrice nodded slowly. "I will need time to instruct everyone on their roles. The coordination required is complex—each person must know precisely when to channel, when to hold, when to yield to the next." She looked at me, then at Lily. "You both should rest while I prepare them. Conserve your strength. Tonight, we will be rid of this corruption once and for all."

I did not sleep. Sleep had become impossible—the corruption did not rest, and neither could I. But I lay still, conserving what strength remained, listening to Lily's breath next to my ear and the sounds of the house below. Voices. Footsteps. The quiet urgency of people preparing to help me.

The afternoon light through the window shifted. Deepened. Turned gold, then amber, then grey.

By the time the room had begun to go dark, I understood that hours had passed. That whatever preparations the Weavers had been making were nearly complete.