A/N: In this chapter, questions go unanswered, loyalties blur, and the feeling that something is very wrong only grows heavier.
Thank you for reading so far.

All rights to the world and characters of Narnia belong to C.S. Lewis and his estate.

Chapter 32 - Unanswered Questions & Hidden Threads

Peter's POV

The dungeons of Cair Paravel were damp with the lingering scent of stone, steel, and something far more bitter—betrayal.

Peter stood before Bavra's cell, arms crossed, gaze unwavering. The faun sat on the cold floor, chains draped over his wrists, but his posture was far from defeated. He was waiting.

Diácano stood beside Peter, arms folded over his chest, the centaur's imposing figure making the already cramped space feel smaller. He wasn't just here for observation—Peter needed his force, his ability to extract fear where words alone failed.

Peter exhaled sharply. "You will tell me who we are fighting."

Bavra smirked, tilting his head lazily. "Will I?"

Peter clenched his jaw, stepping closer to the bars. "Enough riddles, faun. You know something. You're going to tell me."

Bavra chuckled. "You think threats will work on me?"

A heavy thud echoed through the chamber as Diácano slammed a hooved foot against the ground, the force of it rattling the chains on the walls. Bavra barely flinched, but the flicker of amusement in his eyes dimmed.

"You underestimate how far we're willing to go," Diácano rumbled. "And how much I despise traitors."

Bavra sighed, stretching his shoulders as if he were only mildly inconvenienced. "And yet, here I sit, still breathing. Strange."

Peter inhaled deeply, trying to suppress his growing frustration. "You were found in the middle of this, orchestrating betrayals, conspiring against Narnia. That means you know something valuable." His voice dropped lower. "And if you're this calm, that means we're missing something."

Bavra's smirk widened. "Now you're thinking."

Diácano's patience snapped first. The centaur reached forward, grabbing Bavra by the collar of his ragged tunic and slamming him back against the cold stone wall.

Peter didn't stop him. Not yet.

"You will answer," Diácano growled. "Or I will make sure your silence is the last thing you ever offer this world."

Bavra grinned through gritted teeth. "You're too late."

Peter felt it in his gut—that drop, that slow realization creeping up his spine.

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Who?"

Bavra tilted his head, considering, before letting out a slow, breathy chuckle. "You'll find out soon enough."

Peter nodded to Diácano, who let go with a shove. Bavra hit the floor, coughing but still smirking like he had already won.

Peter turned sharply, storming up the stairs. Bavra's voice echoed after him. "Keep up, little King. You're always a step behind."

Diácano muttered under his breath as they emerged from the dungeon. "That faun should have been executed already."

Peter didn't disagree. But something told him Bavra wouldn't be in that cell for long.

Peter's POV

Peter stood on the cliffs, staring at the sea that stretched beyond sight. The wind whipped at his cloak, howling in his ears, but it wasn't loud enough to drown out his thoughts.

"Aslan," he murmured, then exhaled. "Aslan, I don't know what I'm doing."

No answer.

His hands curled into fists. "If you can hear me, if you're there, give me something. Anything."

The waves crashed below, relentless, uncaring.

Peter's throat felt tight. "Are we already losing?"

Silence.

"Are we blind?"

Silence.

Peter's breath shook slightly as he stared up at the sky. "I need to know if I'm walking them into something I can't get them out of."

Still, nothing. Not silence. Not absence. Just… nothing.

A sharp pain settled in his chest. Was this how it was going to be? Were they truly alone this time?

Footsteps behind him.

He turned quickly, instinctively expecting an answer—

But it was Susan.

She was watching him carefully, arms wrapped around herself against the wind. "Who were you talking to?"

Peter exhaled slowly. "No one, apparently."

She stepped forward, standing beside him at the cliff's edge. "It's getting worse, isn't it?"

Peter didn't answer. She already knew.

A long silence stretched between them before Susan sighed. "I'm worried about Lucy."

That caught him off guard. He turned to her. "Lucy?"

Susan nodded, looking away. "She's been suffering since we came back. She won't say it outright, but I see it. She's restless, angry. She was always the one who believed in Narnia the most, but now she seems… lost."

Peter's stomach tightened. How hadn't he noticed?

"She hides it well," Susan added. "Better than Edmund."

Peter's jaw clenched at the mention of their younger brother. "He saw something in the woods," he admitted. "Something watching him."

Susan's brows furrowed. "Edmund?"

He nodded. "He doesn't know what it was. But he sounded—scared."

Susan was quiet for a moment before shaking her head. "Everything is slipping."

Peter let out a slow, bitter chuckle. "When did we become worried parents instead of siblings?"

Susan smiled wryly. "The moment we realized we weren't invincible."

They stood there, watching the waves crash, feeling the weight of their fears settle between them.

Finally, Peter exhaled. "I don't think we're just noticing it now because we're older, Susan. I think everything really is falling apart."

Susan didn't argue. Because she knew it too.

And the worst part?

They both knew someone was going to get hurt.

The dungeon was quiet again. The only sound was the faint dripping of water somewhere beyond the stone walls.

Bavra sat in the dim candlelight, wrists still shackled, his smirk never fading.

Footsteps.

Soft. Purposeful. Unrushed.

He didn't even look up. He had been expecting them.

"Took you long enough," he murmured. "I was beginning to think you'd abandoned me."

The air shifted. A presence. A shadow. Someone there.

Bavra chuckled, shaking his head. "They have no idea, do they?"

A silence stretched. A lingering, knowing silence.

And then—

Soft laughter in the dark.