The next morning, Carlos woke with an unfamiliar clarity—as though sleep had washed something heavy out of him, leaving behind a fragile, deceptive calm. For a few quiet seconds, he lay still, staring at nothing in particular, letting that strange lightness settle over him.
Then he shifted.
The cool air brushed against his skin too sharply.
"Wha—What happened?"
The words tore out of him as he jerked upright, his gaze dropping instantly to his chest. His shirt was ripped wide open, the fabric torn in uneven, jagged lines that didn't look accidental. It wasn't a clean tear—it looked forced, as if something had broken through it.
And there, resting against his exposed skin, was the pendant.
It glowed.
Faintly, yes—but unmistakably. A soft, pulsing light, like something breathing beneath the surface.
"Ruel?" Carlos called, his voice tight, edged with confusion. He waited.
Nothing.
No response. No dry remark. No presence brushing against his thoughts.
