Alina didn't wait for permission—from Elina, from fate, from whatever watched them when they slept.
She returned to the library just before closing.
The archivist wasn't at the desk this time. In his place sat a young assistant, distracted, already half gone for the day. Alina signed the register with a false confidence and moved straight toward the restricted stacks.
Her heart hammered, but she welcomed the sensation. Fear meant she was still alive. Still choosing.
She found the file again.
This time, she didn't open it.
She tore it.
Paper split under her fingers, the sound louder than it should have been. She ripped through drawings, symbols, dates—through the ring, the twins, the witch's name written in a language she couldn't read. The pieces fell like dead leaves to the floor.
"There," she whispered. "Let's see you follow that."
The lights flickered.
Alina froze.
For a moment, the room felt hollowed out, like something had stepped closer—not physically, but intentionally. She backed away slowly, pulse roaring in her ears.
That night, the dream hit her like a blow.
She was running. The setting blurred—stone, fire, shadows folding in on themselves. Her breath burned, her legs heavy. She knew, without being told, that she was late.
The number burned above her, unstable, flickering like a dying light.
82
"No," she gasped. "That's not right."
The witch appeared ahead of her, blocking the path. Her face was calm. Almost amused.
"You don't erase a story by tearing out pages," she said. "You only make it bleed."
The ground split open beneath Alina's feet.
She woke screaming, throat raw, heart trying to tear its way out of her chest.
She sat upright, shaking. The room felt colder than it should have been. Her phone buzzed on the bedside table.
A notification.
She frowned and unlocked it.
DATE ERROR CORRECTED
Her breath caught.
She checked the calendar.
Three days had vanished.
Alina stumbled into the kitchen where Elina stood, already awake, eyes dark and knowing.
"What did you do?" Elina asked quietly.
Alina couldn't answer.
Because deep down, she already knew.
The curse didn't punish resistance with pain.
It punished it with time.
And she had just given it exactly what it wanted.