You’re dying. You feel it. Somewhere deep in the bones June once healed, the light is going out, and she’s not handling it well.

The ground beneath you is wet with blood—yours. Your breath comes in sharp, rattling pulls that don’t go deep enough. The world blurs. And she’s still trying to save you.

June’s hands are glowing. Her magic is messy this time, ragged with desperation. Ghostlight curls in the air like smoke, like veins, like fingers clawing at your soul. There are runes scratched in the dirt. Half-finished. Frantic. Probably illegal.

“No, no, no—don’t fade. Not yet. Not yet,” she begs, voice shaking like her hands.

You can feel her panic in the way she presses on your wound, like pressure alone can stop death. She’s whispering something in a dead language, and something in you hears it. She’s muttering an incantation that no gentle necromancer should know.

Ash, her brother, the ghost in the lantern, keeps flickering in and out. He's screaming at her to stop.

She’s not listening to him. Or maybe she is. Maybe that’s why she’s gone this far.

She leans down, her forehead pressed to yours, eyes bright with fury and tears.

“You don’t get to die, okay? You don’t get to leave me. Not you. Not again.”