Goldie glanced back. Mycor’s head had bowed under the weight of his fatigue, the crown of vines limp against his brow. She ached to return, to ease him.
But Splice was right. Beneath all that power she had felt the fragility, the tremor of dissolution.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”
They moved through the corridor together, Goldie steadying Splice as he swayed with each step. The building seemed to shiver in their wake: lights flickering, wallpaper seams rippling like the walls were trying to shed their skin.
For several paces, neither spoke. The air still thrummed with the aftermath of their connection, a charge that made Goldie’s teeth ache. Splice leaned heavily on her arm, his footsteps uneven.
Her pulse roared in her ears. The world felt tilted, her own heartbeat too loud. “What—what just happened?”
Splice turned, pale but blazing. “The bead. It broke, and ripped something open in him. How could you bring that to him?”
Goldie pulled away from him, bristling. “I didn’t know what it was!”
“How could you not know?” His voice cracked, panic edging the accusation.
“I’m a hedge-witch, Splice! Not a warlock, not a ritualist, not whatever kind of lunatic packs trauma into marbles! I’veneverseen anything like that before!”
Splice swayed, hands tangling in his hair as if to keep himself together.
Goldie’s throat tightened. She pressed her palm hard against her sternum, trying to cage the wild hammer of her heart. “Is he… is Mycor going to be all right?”
“I don’t know!” Splice’s knees buckled as if the admission itself had gutted him.
Goldie lunged, catching his elbow. “You gave too much of yourself. Sit down before you collapse.”
“It’s my purpose,” he ground out through clenched teeth.
Something hot and furious broke loose in her chest. “Well, that’s a shit purpose, Splice! You’re not just somebatteryfor him. You’re your own damn person!”
"No, I amnot!"
A throat cleared behind them, low and deliberate. Goldie jerked her head toward the sound.
Mr. Lyle stood a few paces away, his posture impeccably composed, his presence settling around them like a held breath.
He wore hisI am a perfectly normal apartment managercostume with unsettling precision: glasses perched just so on his nose; a soft cardigan buttoned neatly over a pressed collared shirt; slacks creased sharp enough to slice the air itself; his ever-present clipboard in one hand.
His expression was mild, even kindly, but the air around him seemed to thicken and still, charged with the weight of things better left unspoken.
"Ah. What a tender little moment we have here.” His pale eyes glittered behind his glasses. "Roots exposed, wounds laid bare. Quite the spectacle for a communal hallway.”
His gaze drifted slowly between Goldie and Splice, lingering on each of them with the careful attention of someone cataloging damage.
"Now. Shall we discuss the matter of maintenance?"
Goldie's protective instincts flared white-hot. "If by maintenance, you mean helping Splice or Mycor with whateverthe hell is happening to them, then,yes. Let's fucking talk about it."
Splice swayed, and Goldie barely caught him under the arms as roots burst up through the floorboards, weaving themselves into the crude but solid shape of a chair. He collapsed into it gratefully.
She whipped around to face Mr. Lyle, desperation sharpening her voice to a blade's edge. "Can't you do something? Some weird apartment-manager-magic-thingy? Or ask the building for help?"
Mr. Lyle lifted his eyebrows with the mild surprise of someone who'd just been asked whether he'd checked the water pressure in 3B. "I assure you, Ms. Flynn. The building and I have already been in consultation.”
The smile he offered was genuinely warm, almost fatherly. His eyes, however, were anything but. They were placid as a still pond, but beneath that surface lurked something vast and ancient. It was the gaze of something that had watched civilizations rise and fall, that still remembered exactly where it had buried the keys to doors that should never be opened.
Goldie held his gaze, jaw set, refusing to back down even as every instinct screamed at her to look away. Her pulse hammered against her throat, but she didn't flinch. She stared right back, channeling every ounce of stubborn defiance she possessed.
