Alina noticed it in the smallest ways.
Elina stopped arguing.
It wasn't peace—it was absence. The kind that crept into rooms and rearranged the air without asking permission.
That morning, Elina made tea without sugar. She always used sugar. When Alina pointed it out, Elina only smiled, faint and distant, as if the correction belonged to someone else.
"You okay?" Alina asked, trying to sound casual.
"I am," Elina said. Too quickly. Too smoothly.
Alina didn't believe her.
The dreams had changed again. No screams now. No running. Just Elina standing still in the rain while something unseen circled her, patient and certain.
Alina woke with her heart pounding and the certainty clawing up her spine.
She's letting go
The number hovered in her mind like a bruise.
74
At university, Alina watched Elina from across the courtyard. Her sister sat on the steps, notebook closed on her lap, eyes lifted to the sky as if memorizing it.
Alina crossed the space between them in long, angry strides.
"What did she tell you?" Alina demanded.
Elina didn't look surprised. "You'll have to be more specific."
"The witch," Alina snapped. "The truth. The thing you're pretending doesn't exist."
Elina finally met her eyes. There was love there. And something else—something terrifyingly calm.
"She told me what ends it," Elina said.
Alina's pulse roared in her ears. "And?"
"And why it has never been beaten."
"No," Alina said. "No, don't say it like that. There's always another way."
Elina reached out and took Alina's hand. Her fingers were cold.
"You're still fighting," Elina said softly. "That's good."
That was when Alina knew.
Not suspected. Knew.
"You're planning something," Alina whispered. "Don't you dare."
Elina squeezed her hand once, then let go. "You always were braver than me."
"That's not true!"
Elina stood. "It is. You run toward storms. I learned how to endure them."
Alina grabbed her wrist. "We survive together. That's the rule."
Elina's voice broke for the first time. "That was never the rule."
That night, Alina didn't sleep.
She searched through Elina's things—drawers, notebooks, old boxes from childhood—looking for evidence, plans, anything.
She found nothing.
Which was worse.
At 3:17 a.m., the dream dragged her under.
Elina stood at the edge of a circle carved into stone. The witch was behind her now, hand resting lightly on Elina's shoulder.
"She has chosen," the witch said.
Alina screamed and ran, but her feet sank into the ground like wet clay.
"Elina!" she cried. "Don't do this. I can fix it. I swear I can fix it."
Elina turned.
She was smiling—but there were tears on her face.
"I know," she said. "That's why it has to be me."
Alina woke choking on her own breath.
She didn't hesitate.
By sunrise, she was out the door, heart pounding with one clear, terrible thought:
If sacrifice is the key—
Then I will break the lock.