Sarah didn't take her hand.
But she didn't move away either.
Because for the first time… she didn't know if Sarai was wrong.
Sarai had survived Hal.
She had learned to bite back. To lie, to hide, to hurt first.
Without Sarai, Sarah would be dead.
But now Sarai wanted more.
She didn't just want to survive.
She wanted to live in Sarah's place.
Behind her, Ace stepped forward, knife glinting.
But Sarai turned to him slowly, unafraid.
"You should put that down," she said, voice like silk soaked in ash. "You're not the one who decides."
She looked back at Sarah.
"She is."
Ace stopped.
The tension in the air cracked like glass under heat.
Sarah swallowed. "What happens if I let you in?"
Sarai smiled.
"I'll protect you. I'll make you strong again. The kind of strong that doesn't break when love disappoints. The kind that can't be touched."
Sarah's voice wavered. "And Ace?"
Sarai's head tilted.
"He becomes memory. Like Hal. Like the rest. We bury him, like we buried everything else."
Sarah's throat tightened.
Behind her, Ace spoke. "Sarah. Listen to me. You don't need her. You beat her. You are strong. Because you walked away. Because you let yourself love again."
Sarai's eyes flared.
"Love made you soft. Love got you hurt. Love let him do what he did."
"Stop," Sarah said.
But both voices pushed at her. Like waves against a drowning swimmer.
Ace's: "Choose yourself. Not her."
Sarai's: "Choose me. I am you."
Sarah stepped back.
Then forward.
She looked Sarai in the eyes.
"You're not my strength. You're my scar."
Sarai's smile faded.
"You can't live without me," she whispered.
Sarah's voice shook—but held.
"I already have."
She raised the photo, now black with melted ink, and tore it in half.
Sarai screamed.
Not loud—but deep. A sound that rattled the mirror behind her, that shook the hallway, that split the house in two.
Light poured from the crack in the mirror.
A wind howled through the attic.
Sarai's form flickered—fractured—then began to dissolve, like ash in water, screaming all the while:
"You needed me—!"
Sarah whispered, "Not anymore."
Then silence.
She woke in Ace's arms, back in the real attic.
No twisted hallway.
No mirror.
Just dust and light and morning creeping through the slats.
"Is she gone?" Ace asked.
Sarah leaned her head against his chest.
"No," she said softly. "She's part of me. But she doesn't get to control me anymore."
Ace kissed the top of her head. "Then you're free."
Sarah closed her eyes.
And for the first time since Hal, she believed it.