Since that night, Zixuan had asked Cecilion—quietly, almost pleading—for him to take a break. She didn't need to explain why. He saw it in her eyes: the fear, the exhaustion, the ache of watching someone she loved slowly unravel. And so he did.
Cecilion stopped. He stopped planning. Stopped hunting. Stopped counting how many were left. He hid all the charts inside Zixuan's closet.
Instead, he stayed at the hospital, seated beside Paige's unmoving body. Day after day, she lay there—still, pale, untouched by time except for the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest.
Her vitals remained stable, perfectly normal… and yet she never woke. It was as if her soul lingered somewhere just out of reach, caught in the seam between dreams and death.
