Teresa tilts her head. "Yes. Of course."

Hope! Sweetest Lynia: Eve will see her again. She --

She catches her breath.

"Yes, you will need to speak with her. She must believe that you are healthy and happy. That you leave because you no longer need us. It will sadden her, but she will survive."

She breathes in, and back out again.

That she no longer needs them...

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "Sorry I need you. I -- I never wanted to be a threat to her. I'll leave, I promise. Just like you said. Anything for Lynia. So you won't have to worry anymore..."

A hand on Eve's wrist.

She looks straight at Eve. Teresa's eyes are dry, but her jewels glitter like tears.

She is...bad at this.

"You misunderstand," she says. "It's not that I want you to leave. I care for you. I always have. It will sadden me, too, when you depart. It's just..."

Her heart is beating swiftly. She must not show it. Control, always.

"You understand, don't you, Eve? For Lynia, I would do..."

"Anything," Eve whispers.

Wait.

She looks at Teresa. There are no tears, but there is pain. She can detect it, just barely. She has seen this expression before. When Lynia was hurting, or upset. When such pressure was placed on Teresa's heart that even her diamond shell could not but begin to crack.

Teresa is actually telling the truth. This is crushing her. To send Eve away, to never see her again: to make Lynia's dreams a failure. And she is doing it anyway.

To protect Lynia.

Her heart is in her throat, and it pounds with violence.

She never -- she never realized quite so acutely --

-- how much she loved this woman.

Her hand darts out to seize Teresa's wrist.

Teresa flinches. Not quick enough. Eve's fingers are cold and strong. Too strong.

"Come," Eve says, and stands and pulls. It is with far more force than she should be able, because her muscles are not muscles anymore.

Because Eve thought that she loved only Lynia, and so there was no way out. But if she loves Teresa -- if she loves her truly --

-- then the sxelanth will have its meal.

Teresa is hauled to her feet with a sudden jerk. She does not understand.

"Eve, what -- "

Now Eve is pulling, dragging her across the room, toward the exit. Through, and into the cold night air beyond. Into an alley, shadowed and silent, a slice of the stars glittering above. None will disturb them here.

She presses Teresa against the stone brick wall.

She catches the barest glimpse in the starlight, and now she is gasping in fear.

Because Eve's hands are not hands. The skin has split open from the wrists all through the fingers, and there are tendrils, oozing black tendrils, spilling through the gaps -- cold against Teresa's bare shoulders, and monstrously strong --

In an eyeblink, her hand is at the branescythe on her hip.

Eve's tendrils whip down, fast and strong --

-- but too slow. The tendrils are wrapped around her arm, but the slender silver point of the branescythe is aimed between Eve's gleaming black eyes. One squeeze of the trigger, and she will be cut into ten thousand pieces.

There is no fear in those eyes.

"Teresa," Eve whispers, and her voice is a slithering hiss.

"You want to save Lynia, don't you?"