Time Is Relative.

They stood there, unmoving. The silence was unbearable, like the whole lab was holding its breath. Her eyes never left his. His never left hers. Every thought in Juno’s head scattered, blurred, then sharpened again, until there was only one truth between them.

Her hand lifted. Slow, deliberate.

The space between them shrank, invisible threads snapping one by one until the last thing holding them together was a single word.

“Die.”

The syllable fell cold from her lips.

But before her fingers could close, before that gesture could become something more—

The world split.

A shot cracked.

The sound was jagged, too sudden, too violent for the silence it tore through.

Sylvi’s body jerked.

For Juno, it was as if time fractured—slowed, dragged, stretched until each detail seared itself into him.

Her eyes widened, confusion sparking before fading.

Her mouth opened, but no words came.

Her body folded forward, collapsing into his space, into his arms, into him.

Blood bloomed across his shirt, warm and heavy, soaking through fabric, sinking into skin. Sylvi was shot in front of him.

She hit the floor, limp, expression frozen in something he couldn’t name.

Juno didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

He just stood there. looked down at my hands. Blood spilled through the lines in my palms, blood that wasn't mine.

I couldn’t breathe. When I looked up at him, he didn’t move. He just stood there, still. Watching like I was some specimen pinned under glass. His mask was sealed shut. No eyes. No mouth. No expression. Just a blank wall where a human should be. A man made of nothing.

“Why…” My voice cracked as I turned. She was lying there, collapsed in a mess of torn fabric and crimson. Her eyes, once bright, now just stared blankly through me.

Gone.

“Sylvi?” I spat the words, not even recognizing my voice.

It didn’t sound indignant. It sounded broken.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even shift his weight. Like I was yelling at a statue.

“You—” I started. My throat burned.

“You. You.” My voice kept cracking. My legs moved on their own.

I stumbled toward him, fists clenched so tight I thought my fingers might begin to bleed.

I wanted to break him.

I wanted to see him shatter.

I wanted to rip him apart and force him to feel even a fraction of what he just stole.

“I hate you.” Every step hit the ground like thunder.

“I hate you.” I wasn’t even sure if I was yelling it or whispering it by then.

But I meant it.

I meant every word.

. . .

Rilke’s hand shot out, fingers biting into Juno’s arm before he could hurl himself at the machine.

“Stop!” Her voice cracked, echoing sharply against the steel and dust.

Juno twisted, his head snapping toward her, but his eyes, his eyes weren’t human anymore. They burned, not with rage alone, but something heavier, darker. Depressing. It wasn’t Rilke he was seeing. His gaze tunneled through her, past her.

Rilke’s breath hitched. She followed his stare.

And froze.

Sylvi.

She was standing there.

Her body sagged like a marionette half-remembering how to stand. Her hair clung damp to her face, strands matted with streaks of red, but it wasn’t enough to hide the glow. She lifted her head just enough for one eye to slip free of the curtain.

Her lips barely moved, muttering a word older than the desert itself.

“Kusare.”

“LOOK OUT!” A voice split the air.

But before either of them could move—before she could burn its command into reality—Cassian came tearing out of the shadows.

He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t think. He just ran.

His body collided with theirs, shoving Juno and Rilke out of the line of fire with everything he had left to give.

And then—

It hit him.

The strike cleaved him clean through, but not clean in the way of mercy. His body split jagged, torn, the blade of force ripping from shoulder to hip, spilling him in two ragged halves. Flesh snapped, bone cracked, strings of muscle stretched until they burst, spraying the ground in arcs of crimson and black. His entrails slapped wet against the floor, unraveling in a trail.

Cassian’s face, God, his face still carried the momentum of the push, eyes wide, mouth open, but no sound came. His body collapsed into itself, two broken slabs of meat hitting the stone in staggered echoes.

The smell of iron filled the lab, hot and suffocating.

Rilke screamed. Juno didn’t.

His gaze shifted to her. Only her.

Sylvaine.