Suri's voice snapped me out of sleep like the crack of a whip. "Mara. Up. Now."

I jerked upright, already on edge. Suri wasn't the type to throw around urgency unless something serious was happening. Blinking away the haze of sleep, I rubbed my face and squinted at her. Her expression was carved from stone, her usual composure stretched thin by whatever had brought her here in the dead of night.

"What is it?" I muttered, reaching for my boots.

"Get dressed," she said briskly, her hand hovering near the hilt of her blade as she kept a sharp eye on the door.

That made my stomach twist. Suri was always calm, steady as a rock in the chaos that came with life in the League. If she looked this tense, something was very wrong.

"What's going on?" I pressed, yanking my boots on and reaching for my dagger.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "The Lazarus Chamber," she said finally, her voice clipped.

That stopped me cold. My fingers froze on the strap of my dagger, my heart skipping a beat. "What?"

She glanced at the door, her jaw tightening. "Ra's summoned you. And Damian."

Damian. Of course. The tension in my chest loosened slightly. If there was anyone I could count on in this madness, it was my cousin. Not that I'd ever admit it to his face.

Trust was a rare commodity in the League of Assassins, but Damian had earned mine in ways I still didn't fully understand. And by extension, I trusted Omar and Suri. The two of them had been instrumental in keeping Damian and me in contact under the ever-watchful eyes of Ra's and Talia.

Suri acted as my shadow, my constant companion and occasional conspirator. Omar was Damian's counterpart, sharp and unflinching, a mirror to Suri's calm efficiency. Together, they were the silent threads that kept Damian and me tethered, even as we pretended to be nothing more than rivals in Ra's' endless power games.

Which was exactly what we'd need to keep doing now. Whatever Ra's had planned, we couldn't let him suspect the alliance we'd been building in the shadows.

I tied the strap of my dagger tight, straightened my tunic, and followed Suri into the corridor.

The halls of Nanda Parbat were eerily quiet, the flickering torchlight casting long, shifting shadows on the stone walls. My pulse quickened with every step, but I kept my expression neutral, my posture straight. Suri walked a step ahead, her movements precise, her hand never far from her blade.

"What's really going on?" I asked her quietly, glancing around to make sure no one was listening.

Her steps didn't falter, but her grip on her sword tightened. "You'll find out soon enough," she said, her voice low.

Not exactly reassuring.

The heavy doors of the Lazarus Chamber loomed ahead, the green glow of the pit seeping through the cracks like poison. Suri pushed the door open, stepping aside to let me in.

The chill of the chamber hit me first, a biting cold that settled into my bones. The acrid scent of the Lazarus Pit followed, sharp and metallic, making my nose wrinkle.

Ra's was already there, standing near the edge of the pit with his hands clasped behind his back. His presence was as suffocating as ever, a heavy weight that pressed against my chest. Talia stood a few paces behind him, her expression as unreadable as ever, though her gaze flicked to me with an edge I couldn't quite place.

Omar was stationed near the entrance, his arms crossed and his face a mask of indifference. He didn't so much as glance my way, but the subtle shift of his stance told me he was watching everything.

And then there was Damian.

He stood near Ra's, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, scanning the room with practiced ease. The faintest twitch of his fingers at his side was the only sign he'd noticed me enter. To anyone else, he looked as calm and collected as ever—a dutiful soldier awaiting orders.

But I knew better. Damian wasn't calm. He was calculating.

"Mara," Ra's said, his voice smooth and commanding. "So good of you to join us."

I stepped forward, keeping my movements steady, my head slightly bowed in respect. "Grandfather."

"Another trial," Damian said, his tone completely devoid of the usual sharpness he reserved for private moments. Here, in front of Ra's and Talia, he was the picture of obedience, his voice even and deferential. "How unexpected."

The edge of Ra's mouth twitched, though it was unclear if it was amusement or disdain. "I have yet to determine which of you is truly worthy to carry my legacy," he said, his gaze flicking between Damian and me. "This trial will bring clarity."

Clarity, my ass. This was about my father, about punishing his memory for daring to exist outside of Ra's' impossible standards. My fists clenched at my sides, but I forced my expression to remain neutral.

Talia's gaze lingered on me for a moment before shifting to Damian. She said nothing, but her silence was heavier than any words.

I chanced a glance at Damian, and for a split second, our eyes met. His expression didn't change, but the faintest flicker of something—determination? Reassurance?—crossed his face.

"Whatever the trial entails," I said finally, keeping my voice steady, "we will prove ourselves."

Ra's smiled, cold and calculating. "Indeed you will."

Damian and I stood side by side, silent and still, the unspoken weight of our alliance pressing down on both of us. We couldn't let them see. Not Ra's, not Talia.

Whatever game this was, we'd play it their way—for now.

The sound of the Lazarus Pit bubbled faintly in the background, its green glow casting a sickly light over the chamber. I kept my focus sharp, though my stomach churned as Ra's stepped to the side, clearing the space between Damian and me. His voice was calm, as if he were asking for a cup of tea instead of pitting us against each other.

"A simple test of skill," Ra's said. "A duel. Let steel decide who is worthy."

Damian stood across from me, his expression a blank slate. He didn't look at me like we were cousins, like we'd shared secrets under the cover of night or plotted Ra's' downfall together. He looked at me like I was just another opponent—one he had every intention of beating.

Suri moved beside me without a word, slipping my saif sword into my hand. Her touch was light, but I could feel the weight of her silent warning. No mistakes.

Across the chamber, Omar handed Damian his katana with the same quiet efficiency. Damian's hand closed around the hilt like it was an extension of himself, his grip confident and controlled.

Talia and Ra's watched from the edge of the chamber, their gazes heavy and unyielding. There would be no room for subtle alliances or hidden tricks this time. Every move, every breath, every flicker of hesitation would be noticed.

Damian inclined his head slightly, the barest acknowledgment of the fight to come. "Ready, cousin?"

His tone was infuriatingly calm, like this was a warm-up drill instead of a trial designed to keep us both on the edge of survival.

"Always," I shot back, raising the saif. The blade felt steady in my hand, the familiar weight grounding me as I took my stance.

Ra's raised his hand. "Begin."

Damian moved first, fast and precise, his katana slicing through the air with deadly intent. I barely had time to block, the clash of metal ringing out as I twisted to the side, deflecting his strike.

"Don't hold back now," Damian said, his tone dripping with faux encouragement as he pressed forward, his strikes coming in quick succession.

I grit my teeth, pivoting to avoid his next blow and countering with a slash aimed at his side. He parried effortlessly, his movements smooth and unrelenting.

"You're going to have to do better than that," he added, his voice maddeningly steady as our blades collided again.

"Oh, don't worry," I shot back, ducking under his next swing and attempting to sweep his legs with a low strike. He leapt over it with infuriating ease, his katana flashing as he brought it down toward me.

I twisted away at the last second, Damian's blade slicing the air close enough that I could feel the sharp kiss of displaced wind against my cheek. My saif came up reflexively, catching his next strike in a defensive arc with a grunt. The impact jarred through my arms, sending a sharp vibration up to my shoulders that made my teeth clench.

"You're awfully chatty for someone who's supposed to be focused," I said, trying to sound sharp, though the effort of holding off his strength threatened to break my tone. Our blades locked, and I used the tension between them to shove him back just enough to get some breathing room. My feet scrambled for better footing on the slick stone floor.

"I am focused," Damian shot back smoothly, his katana already cutting through the air again before I'd fully regained my stance. The speed of his strikes forced me into retreat, my saif moving almost instinctively to deflect each one.

"You're the one who keeps talking," he added, his voice maddeningly steady, like we were having a casual conversation over tea instead of engaging in a life-or-death spar.

My breath hitched as I barely managed to block his next blow. The sheer force of it pushed me back a full step, my boots scuffing against the stone. His movements were a blur—faster than I remembered, each strike flowing seamlessly into the next, his katana a gleaming extension of his will.

I couldn't keep retreating. I tried to feint, shifting my weight to draw his attention to my left side before pivoting and striking from the right. It was a classic move, one I'd executed a thousand times before in practice. But Damian read me like an open book, his katana sweeping up effortlessly to block my saif. Before I could even think of a follow-up, he twisted his wrist sharply, disarming me with precision so clean it almost felt insulting.

"Predictable," he said, the word cutting deeper than any blade. His tone was infuriatingly calm, not even winded, as he stepped forward to push me back again.

"Smug little—" I bit off the rest of my sentence, too frustrated to finish it. With a surge of desperation, I lunged forward, aiming for his shoulder. If I could just catch him off guard—

But no. Of course not. He sidestepped with the kind of lazy grace that made me want to scream. His katana flashed as he spun, the motion almost elegant, and before I could adjust, the blunt edge of his blade struck the hilt of my saif, knocking it from my grip.

The metallic clang of my sword hitting the stone floor echoed around the chamber, louder than the bubbling of the Lazarus Pit, louder than the blood pounding in my ears.

I stood there, breath heaving, hands clenched into fists at my sides. Damian didn't press the attack, didn't even raise his katana again. Instead, he stood there, katana lowered but still poised, his stance steady and unshakable.

He looked at me, his expression a study in neutrality—no smug smirk, no triumphant grin, just that same maddeningly calm mask he always wore. It was worse than any taunt.

"Yield?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

I glared at him, my hands curling into fists. I wanted to wipe that calm, calculating look off his face, but the fight was over, and we both knew it.

I straightened, swallowing my pride as I stepped back. "Yield."

Damian nodded once, stepping back and lowering his katana fully.

The room was silent except for the faint bubbling of the Lazarus Pit and the sound of my breathing.

"Impressive," Ra's said, his voice breaking the tension. "As expected."

Damian sheathed his katana without a word, his expression giving away nothing.

But as he turned slightly, just enough to meet my gaze for the briefest moment, I caught it—a flicker of something in his eyes. Not triumph. Not smugness. But love and reassurance.

And then it was gone, replaced by the same blank mask he always wore in Ra's' presence.

"Damian," Ra's spoke up, his tone calm and measured in a way that immediately set my nerves on edge. "Remove her eye."

It was as if the ground beneath me dropped away. For a second, I wasn't even sure I'd heard him right. The chamber felt colder, the bubbling of the Lazarus Pit a dull roar in the background as I turned my head sharply to look at him.

"Excuse me?" I said, my voice cracking slightly despite my best efforts to keep it steady.

Ra's didn't even glance my way, his focus entirely on Damian. "She has failed, and failure deserves a mark. A reminder. Remove her eye."

I couldn't breathe. My heart pounded in my chest, every instinct screaming at me to run, to fight, to do something. But my body wouldn't move, frozen by the sheer weight of his command and the cold, unflinching certainty in his tone. My gaze snapped to Damian, searching his face for... I didn't even know what. Reassurance? Defiance? Anything other than the blank mask he wore now.

For a horrible moment, I believed he would do it. His grip on the katana tightened just slightly, the muscles in his jaw tensing as he turned his head toward me.

"Damian," I whispered, the word barely audible, but it felt like a plea, a crack in the armor I'd tried so hard to keep intact.

He stepped toward me, and I couldn't stop the instinctive step back that followed. My legs felt like lead, my breath shallow and ragged. He was going to do it. He had to. This was Ra's al Ghul's command, and no one defied him, not even Damian Wayne.

But then he stopped. He stopped just short of reaching me, his katana lowering slowly until the tip barely touched the ground. He turned to Ra's, his shoulders squared, his voice steady in a way that didn't match the fire in his eyes.

"No."

It was one word, but it hit like a thunderclap.

Ra's tilted his head slightly, like a predator considering its prey. "No?" he repeated, the word soft but carrying enough weight to make the air feel suffocating.

"I won't do it," Damian said, his voice gaining strength. "She failed, yes, but this isn't the answer. This isn't how you make an heir, Grandfather."

My knees nearly buckled with relief. The tight grip around my chest loosened, and I could feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes—not from weakness, but from the sheer, overwhelming wave of gratitude that crashed over me. In that moment, I loved him. Not in a romantic way, not in the way stories talk about love, but in the way you love someone who sees you, who chooses you, even when everything else in the world says they shouldn't.

But my relief was short-lived.

Ra's moved faster than I thought possible. One second, he was standing there, calm and still, and the next, his blade was in his hand, slicing through the air with lethal precision. Damian didn't even have time to raise his katana.

The blade pierced his chest.

"No!" The word tore from my throat before I could think, my voice raw and broken as I watched Damian stagger, his katana slipping from his grip.

He crumpled to the ground, and I was moving before I even realized it, falling to my knees beside him. My hands pressed against the wound in his chest, desperate to stop the bleeding, even though I knew it was useless. Blood pooled beneath him, warm and sticky against my fingers as his breathing grew shallow.

"Damian," I choked, my voice trembling. His eyes met mine, and for a brief moment, they softened. He tried to say something, but no words came out, just a weak exhale as his hand twitched slightly before falling limp.

I clung to him, my tears falling freely now, mixing with the blood staining the stone floor. My cousin. My ally. The one person in this twisted, chaotic world I trusted more than anyone else. Gone.

"You monster," I spat, lifting my head to glare at Ra's, my voice shaking with equal parts grief and fury. "He was your grandson!"

Ra's regarded me with the same detached calm he always had, as if none of this mattered. "I knew you two were hiding something," he said, his voice smooth, almost conversational. "Your bond was a weakness. And now you both have paid the price for it."

I wanted to kill him. I wanted to take the saif from the ground and drive it through his cold, black heart. But I couldn't move. All I could do was cling to Damian's lifeless body, my sobs echoing in the suffocating silence.

The sound of my own cries grated against my ears, sharp and ragged as they filled the chamber, and for the briefest second, I hated myself for them. My hands were still pressed against Damian's chest, uselessly trying to stop the flow of blood that had already slowed to nothing. The sharp edges of the world blurred with my tears, and I couldn't tell if the tremor in my arms was from exhaustion or the suffocating wave of panic clawing at my throat.

"Will you stop that racket?" Ra's voice sliced through the air, sharp and exasperated, like I was a child throwing a tantrum. "You embarrass yourself."

I didn't look up. Couldn't. My fists tightened against Damian's tunic, smearing blood across the intricate patterns as I tried to block out Ra's presence entirely.

"I'll embarrass you," I snapped back, the words choked and barely audible over my sobs. Not my best retort, but grief wasn't exactly conducive to witty comebacks.

Ra's let out a short, annoyed sigh, the kind that suggested he was deeply inconvenienced by my humanity. His boots clicked against the stone floor as he approached, his tone cold and clinical. "Enough. This is unbecoming of someone who claims to be my blood."

"Don't you dare lecture me right now," I shot back, finally raising my head to glare at him. My face was hot with tears, my vision blurred, but I could still make out his infuriatingly calm expression. "You killed him!" My voice cracked on the last word, and I hated how small and broken it sounded.

Ra's raised an eyebrow, like I was the unreasonable one here. "And I will revive him," he said flatly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

That stopped me cold. I blinked up at him, disbelief tightening my chest. "What?"

"You heard me," he said, already turning toward the Lazarus Pit. "Stop your sniveling. We'll use the Pits, and the boy will return. Stronger, if anything." He waved a hand dismissively. "Honestly, your dramatics are tedious."

For a split second, hope flared in my chest. As much as I hated Ra's, as much as I wanted to see him burn for what he'd done, I clung to his words like a lifeline. If anyone could cheat death, it was him. And Damian—he had to come back. He always came back.

Ra's gestured to a pair of Shadows, who moved quickly to lift Damian's body. I wanted to protest, to scream at them to be gentle, but the words caught in my throat. My hands felt empty without him, and I pressed them uselessly against my thighs, smearing blood across the fabric.

The Shadows carried him to the edge of the Lazarus Pit, the swirling green liquid glowing faintly in the dim light. The chamber felt colder somehow, the air thick with a tension that made it hard to breathe. I stood frozen, my feet rooted to the ground as Ra's stepped forward, his expression unreadable.

"This is your second chance, boy," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, before giving a curt nod.

The Shadows tilted Damian's body forward, and I flinched as it disappeared into the bubbling green depths. The sound of the Pits swallowing him was wet and nauseating, a sickening gurgle that made my stomach churn. I held my breath, waiting for something to happen. For Damian to rise, coughing and cursing, his usual scowl firmly in place.

But nothing happened.

The Pits churned, the green liquid rippling as if in agitation, but no figure emerged. My chest tightened, the hope that had flickered to life now teetering on the edge of despair.

"Why isn't he coming out?" I asked, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to sound calm.

Ra's frowned, his gaze fixed on the Pits. "Patience," he snapped, though there was an edge to his voice now, a hint of uncertainty that sent a spike of fear through me.

The Pits churned harder, the glow intensifying for a moment before dimming again. The liquid seemed to ripple outward, as if something beneath the surface was pulling it inward, dragging it down into an unseen abyss.

"Something's wrong," I whispered, the words barely audible over the sound of the bubbling Pits.

"Silence," Ra's barked, but he took a step back, his composure slipping ever so slightly.

Another moment passed. The Pits grew still, the surface eerily smooth, like a pane of green glass. My heart sank, dread pooling in my stomach as I realized what it meant.

"No," I breathed, shaking my head. "No, no, no. This isn't happening. This can't be happening."

Ra's stood rigid, his hands clenched at his sides. "Impossible," he muttered, his voice low and strained.

I turned to him, my grief twisting into anger, raw and all-consuming. "What did you do?" I demanded, stepping closer, my fists clenched. "What did you do to him?"

Ra's didn't answer. He didn't even look at me, his eyes still fixed on the Pits as if willing them to give him something, anything. But the Pits remained still, their glow fading into a dull, lifeless hue.

"Answer me!" I screamed, shoving him with all the strength I could muster. "You killed him! You—" My voice broke, and I choked on a sob, the weight of it all crashing down on me again.

Everything around me faded into static, the sounds of shouts, clashing steel, and splintering stone blending into a cacophony of white noise. My ears buzzed with it, drowning out Talia's enraged scream as she lunged at Ra's with a dagger in hand, her voice thick with fury and betrayal. I didn't care. None of it mattered. Not the fight breaking out around me, not the chaos Ra's had unleashed on all of us. The only thing I could see was the Lazarus Pits, eerily still, the green glow now dimmed to nothing but a faint shimmer.

My feet moved before I could stop them, dragging me closer to the edge. I stumbled, my legs trembling under the weight of grief that felt like it was pressing down on my chest, crushing my ribs until I couldn't breathe. My knees hit the cold stone with a dull thud, but I barely registered the pain. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the surface of the Pits, searching desperately for something, anything—a ripple, a shadow, a sign.

But there was nothing.

"Damian…" His name left my lips in a whisper, so soft it barely made a sound, and yet it felt like it echoed through the chamber, bouncing back at me like a cruel joke. My hands clawed at the edge of the Pits, my nails scraping against the stone as if I could drag him back myself.

He had loved me. He had saved me. And now he was gone.

My chest tightened as the memory of his voice, steady and defiant, played in my mind. "No." That one word, so simple and resolute, had shattered the hold Ra's had over both of us. He could have done it. I thought he would. For a terrifying second, I had believed he'd follow through, that he'd take my eye and solidify himself as Ra's heir in the most brutal way possible. But he hadn't.

Instead, he'd defied the Demon's Head, thrown away everything for me, and now… now there was nothing left of him.

A strangled sob broke free from my throat, raw and ugly, tearing through the static in my mind. My hands shook as I pressed them to my face, trying to hold myself together, but it was useless. The grief spilled out of me, hot and uncontrollable, as my body curled in on itself.

I could hear them still, Ra's barking orders, his voice strained and frantic, so unlike the calm, calculated tone he always carried. He was unraveling, his precious plans crumbling in front of him, and yet it brought me no satisfaction. I didn't care. Let him lose his mind. Let him fall apart. It didn't change anything.

Somewhere behind me, Talia screamed something incoherent, her rage spilling out in a flurry of sharp, accusatory words and the clang of her blade against her father's. It should have drawn my attention—it would have, any other day. Watching Talia Al Ghul try to murder her father wasn't exactly an everyday occurrence.

But all I could see was the Pit.

The thought hit me like a knife to the gut, sharp and sudden. Damian was gone. Not just gone, but erased, swallowed whole by the very thing that was supposed to bring him back. The realization clawed at my mind, tearing through whatever fragile thread of sanity I had left. He wasn't coming back. He wasn't coming back, and it was my fault.

If I hadn't failed. If I'd been better, faster, smarter. If I hadn't needed saving—

My breath hitched, coming in shallow, broken gasps. My head felt light, the edges of my vision blurring as the walls seemed to close in around me.

"Get up," I whispered to myself, my voice barely audible over the roaring in my ears. My fingers dug into the stone until my knuckles ached, but I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe.

Tears blurred my vision again, hot and relentless, as my chest heaved with sobs that wouldn't stop. Every memory of him played out in my mind in rapid succession, each one sharper and more painful than the last. The way he always stood just a little too tall for his height, his sharp, cutting remarks that masked the rare moments of genuine care underneath. The way he'd stood between me and Ra's, his voice steady as he told him, "No."

He had saved me, and now he was gone.

Another sob wrenched free, this one louder, more desperate. My fingers slipped against the edge of the Pits, and I leaned forward, staring into the emptiness below as if I could will him to return.

"Bring him back," I begged, my voice cracking, though I wasn't sure who I was talking to. Ra's? The Pits? Whatever cruel god had decided to take him from me? "Please… please bring him back."

But there was no answer. The Pits remained still, silent and unyielding, their faint glow mocking me with its emptiness.

My hands balled into fists, slamming against the ground with a force that sent pain shooting up my arms. "You can't just leave me," I choked out, my voice shaking. "You can't—"

My words dissolved into another sob, and I pressed my forehead against the cold stone, my tears pooling beneath me. I had nothing left—no strength, no fight, no hope. Just an emptiness that swallowed me whole, as cold and unforgiving as the Pits themselves.

And for the first time in my life, I understood what it meant to be completely and utterly alone.

Suri and Omar pulled me out of the chamber like I weighed nothing, their grip firm but not harsh. I didn't fight them. What was the point? The energy it would've taken to resist felt like more than I had left to give. My legs stumbled along, barely keeping pace as they dragged me through the twisting halls of Nanda Parbat. The cold stone beneath my boots blurred together with the muted colors of flickering torches lining the walls. Everything felt distant, like I was watching myself from somewhere far away.

I heard their voices, but the words were meaningless noise. Suri's sharp tone and Omar's calmer, more measured one blended together, their hurried whispers cutting through the silence but not reaching me. My brain didn't bother translating. I was too busy replaying everything that had just happened, over and over again, as if my mind wanted to rub salt into every raw nerve I had left.

The glow of the Lazarus Pits. Gone. The sound of Damian's body hitting the stone floor. Final. The silence that followed. Deafening.

They stopped dragging me once we were outside, and the biting air hit my face like a slap. My brain sluggishly registered the cold, but it didn't snap me back. I felt numb, like my body and my mind weren't quite connected anymore. Suri was talking again—fast and clipped, her voice carrying that same edge of urgency she always had when things went sideways. Omar, on the other hand, was staring at me, his eyes full of something I couldn't quite read. Pity? Concern? Whatever it was, I didn't want it.

"She's not even listening, Omar," Suri snapped, throwing her hands up. "She's in shock."

"I know," he muttered, but he didn't sound annoyed. He just sounded tired. They both did. That made three of us.

I didn't react when Omar crouched down, placing a hand on my shoulder. It was a gesture meant to steady me, to ground me, I think. "Mara," he said gently, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it, "we need to keep moving."

I blinked at him, the first movement I'd made in what felt like hours. The world came back in fragmented pieces—the crunch of gravel beneath our feet, the crisp smell of the mountain air, the faint orange glow of torches flickering in the distance. Slowly, the words started registering too, like a radio station coming back into tune.

"—alliance with Cheshire," Suri was saying, pacing a few steps away, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "The clone. Damian's half-brother. Ra's created him using Talia and Slade. It's sick, but typical Ra's." She spat the last part like venom, kicking a loose stone across the path for emphasis.

I blinked again. A clone? Half-brother? Cheshire? The words swirled in my head, disjointed and meaningless. I stared blankly at Omar as he spoke next, his calm voice a stark contrast to Suri's sharp one.

"With Damian gone, we can't stay here. Suri and I have decided…" He trailed off, glancing at her, and she nodded, her jaw tight. "We've decided to leave the League."

Leave the League. Those words landed in my brain and sat there, heavy and unfamiliar. People didn't leave the League. Not unless they wanted a knife in their back or a bounty on their head for the rest of their very short lives.

"We can keep you safe," Omar added, his hand still firm on my shoulder. "Ra's will focus on the power vacuum, on stabilizing his hold. We can slip away. But we need to go now."

Safe. The word barely registered. I didn't feel safe. I didn't feel anything except the crushing weight of the truth sitting in my chest, suffocating me.

Damian had come back for me.

Not the League. Not Ra's. Not for some noble cause or twisted sense of duty. Me.

He had chosen to walk back into this madness, to put himself in Ra's crosshairs, because I was still here. Because I needed him. And now he was gone, and it was my fault.

If I hadn't failed, if I hadn't let Ra's down, Damian wouldn't have been in that chamber. He wouldn't have defied Ra's to save me. He'd still be here, with that infuriating smirk and those sharp, cutting words that somehow managed to feel like a lifeline when everything else was falling apart.

Instead, he was dead.

And I was still here, dragged out of Nanda Parbat like some broken doll by the only two people in the League who had the guts to defy Ra's. Omar and Suri were risking everything to get me out, to keep me alive. But I couldn't bring myself to care. Every step we took, every breath I took, felt like an insult to Damian's memory. He was gone because of me, and I didn't deserve to still be standing.

"Mara." Omar's voice broke through the fog, more insistent now. He gave my shoulder a gentle shake. "Did you hear what I said?"

I blinked at him, my mouth dry. "Yeah," I croaked, though my voice sounded foreign, even to me. "Yeah, I heard you."

He exchanged a glance with Suri, who rolled her eyes but didn't argue. She just turned and started walking, her movements brisk and purposeful. "We don't have time to babysit her emotions," she muttered, just loud enough for me to hear. "We need to move."

She was right. I didn't have the luxury of falling apart, not here, not now. But as I forced my legs to move, my mind kept circling back to the same crushing realization: Damian was dead because of me. And no matter where we ran or how far we got from Ra's, I would never be able to forgive myself.