The room feels smaller than it ever has. Maybe it's the way Violet keeps pacing, her boots scuffing against the stone floor, or maybe it's just the weight of everything closing in. Either way, it makes my skin itch, and I can't stand it.

"Will you sit down?" I snap, glaring at my twin.

She pauses mid-step, her brows pinching together. "I'm trying to think."

"Think quieter."

Her lips press into a thin line, and she folds her arms over her chest. For a moment, I think she might say something sharp back, but instead, she just exhales through her nose and turns toward the window. Classic Violet—always taking the high road. It's annoying.

I lean back against the wall, my arms draped over my knees, and stare up at the ceiling. There are faint cracks in the stone, ones I never noticed before. Or maybe I did, and they just didn't seem important. Funny how that works—things you ignore until they're all you have left to focus on.

"You should talk to her." Violet's voice cuts through my thoughts, quiet but firm. She doesn't have to say who she means.

"Pass," I mutter, not bothering to look at her.

"She's our mother, Dahlia."

"And she's the reason we're being thrown to the wolves." I shift, my gaze snapping to hers. "Don't act like this is some touching family moment. She signed the order. She made the choice."

Violet flinches, just a little, but it's enough to make me feel like I've won something. Then again, it's not hard to make Violet flinch. She's soft. Too soft for this place, for what's coming.

"Maybe she didn't have a choice," she murmurs.

"Bullshit." The word comes out harsher than I intend, but I don't regret it. "Lilith Sorrengail always has a choice. She just doesn't care about the collateral damage."

Violet doesn't argue, which is probably for the best. I don't have the energy for a fight—not with her, anyway. My anger is reserved for someone else entirely.

I push myself to my feet, brushing dust off my pants. "I'm going out."

"Where?" Violet asks, frowning.

"Anywhere but here." I grab my jacket from the hook by the door, pulling it over my shoulders. "Don't wait up."

"Dahlia—"

I'm already halfway out the door before she can finish, the stone hallway swallowing her voice. The air feels cooler out here, less suffocating, and I let it fill my lungs as I walk. My boots echo against the floor, a steady rhythm that drowns out my racing thoughts.

I don't know where I'm going. Maybe I'll head to the training grounds, or maybe I'll just keep walking until I hit the edge of the world. Either way, it doesn't matter.

Because tomorrow, everything changes.

I end up near the parapet, the infamous bridge that's been the subject of countless horror stories and whispered warnings. It's deserted now, the wind whistling through the gaps in the stone. I step closer, peering over the edge. The drop is dizzying, a sheer plummet into darkness, and for a moment, I wonder what it would feel like to fall.

"Morbid, don't you think?"

The voice startles me, and I spin around to find Mira standing a few feet away. Her arms are crossed, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, my voice sharper than I intend.

"Looking for you," she says simply. "Violet said you stormed off."

"Of course she did." I roll my eyes, leaning back against the railing. "Did she send you to lecture me?"

Mira chuckles, shaking her head. "No. I just wanted to check on you."

"Well, congratulations. I'm alive." I spread my arms wide in mock celebration. "You can go back now."

She doesn't move, her gaze steady. "You're angry."

"No kidding."

"At her? Or at yourself?"

The question catches me off guard, and I glare at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're acting like you're the only one being forced into this," Mira says, her tone annoyingly calm. "But Violet's scared too. She just doesn't let it turn her bitter."

I want to argue, to tell her she doesn't understand, but the words get stuck in my throat. She's not wrong, and that makes it worse.

Mira steps closer, resting a hand on my shoulder. "You're allowed to be angry, Dahlia. But don't let it consume you. That's how you lose."

I swallow hard, looking away. "Easy for you to say. You survived."

"Barely." Her grip tightens, just for a moment. "And only because I didn't let my anger blind me."

Her words linger long after she's gone, the weight of them settling in my chest. I stay there for a while, staring out into the night, the wind tugging at my hair.

Maybe Mira's right. Maybe I am bitter. But I don't know how to be anything else.

Not anymore.