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She doesn’t move.

Not at first.

She watches him drift, watches him fight the inevitable, her gaze cold and fathomless.She lets the helplessness root deep.Lets the reality of it hollow him out.The truth that he’s no longer a man but a body, another piece of wreckage the pit will claim.

Only after that truth sinks in, after it becomes part of him, does she give the smallest nod to the guard.

The machinery stutters.Groans.The water stops its climb.

Then, inch by agonizing inch, it begins to recede, dragging Ruairi back down toward the floor with it, leaving him sprawled and gasping in the mire.

He sucks in a shattered breath, chest heaving, limbs trembling violently from the cold and from the knowledge he couldn’t outlast her.

But it’s too late.The pit has already marked him.

And Aoife stands over him, silent, watching as the last pieces of who he was slip away with the retreating tide.

I watch her, too, still and silent in the shadows.

And for the first time, I see it clearly—she doesn’t belong to us anymore.She belongs to the darkness.

Aoife steps closer to the edge, looking down at the broken figure gasping in the shallow water.

"You have a decision to make," she says, her voice flat, stripped of anything soft."Next time, I might not be feeling so generous."

Without waiting for a response, she turns and walks away.

Behind her, the lights in the pit flicker once, then vanish, sealing Ruairi back into the cold, wet prison she’s made for him.

I’m waiting for her as she exits the chamber, stepping into the dim corridor.Before she can brush past me, I catch her wrist.

She doesn't look at me.

"You're not here," I murmur, voice low enough that only she can hear.

She tenses beneath my hand, her body going rigid, the truth slicing through her sharper than any accusation.

"I'm fine," she says tightly.

I don't believe her.

Not for a second.

"Is this because you know Bridget is pregnant?"I ask, softer now, careful not to snap the last threads holding her together.

She stills, so briefly, most wouldn’t notice, but I do.

Then she shakes her head, a sharp, mechanical gesture."No."

She won’t meet my gaze.And that tells me everything.She’s retreating, folding herself up behind those walls she thinks will keep her safe.But I won’t let her.

"Come with me," I say, already steering her toward the car before she can build another excuse.

"Where are we going?"she asks, a hint of exhaustion threading through her voice.

"You need a break."

She gives me a skeptical look, guarded and calculating.But she doesn’t fight me.She slides into the passenger seat without a word.