Chapter 32 · No More Midnight

The first face on the nearest billboard opened its mouth and screamed her name like it had been waiting three days to do it.

Elara flinched so hard the token burned a line into her palm. Kane's back hit her chest. He was still bleeding. Still standing. Still putting himself between her and a street full of people who had just remembered dying.

"Elara Vale," the dead said, all at once, from every screen, every tram speaker, every cheap phone held up like a flashlight. "Elara Vale. Elara Vale."

The crowd moved like one animal. Not running. Shoving. A woman with a cracked lip pointed at Elara's hands like the token was a knife she'd already used. A guy in a transit vest started crying and didn't stop. Somebody threw a bottle. It smashed short of Kane's boot and sprayed glass up his shin. He didn't look down.

"Back," he said. Voice wrecked. Not loud. People still heard it. "You want her, you go through me."

"They already did," Elara said. Her throat felt raw. "Twelve times. You told me."

"Yeah." He didn't turn. "And I'm still here. So pick a different ending.