Shifting Trust

It was a tense silence, the only sound the faint hum of the Creche moving through the trees beyond the clearing. Lyra’s mind raced, sorting through contingency plans and worst-case scenarios. Could they hide the Archive? Could they destroy it if they had to?

And yet, even as she tried to prepare, she felt the familiar pang of guilt that came with distrusting another human. After everything humanity had lost, every fragile connection seemed too precious to sever. But trust wasn’t a luxury they could afford—not with Victor.

Meera spoke again, her voice low. “I don’t like that he keeps watching the Creche. Like he’s studying them.”

Lyra glanced toward the forest, where the Weaver had disappeared earlier. “They’re watching him too,” she said, almost to herself.

Meera frowned. “What do you mean?”

Lyra hesitated. “It’s just a feeling. Like they’re paying more attention than usual.” She shook her head. “Maybe I’m imagining it.”

Meera wasn’t so sure. She turned toward the edge of the clearing, where the shadows were thickening, and for a moment, she thought she saw something flicker—an almost imperceptible pulse of light.

“Or maybe they know something we don’t,” she murmured.

Neither of them noticed a Weaver nestled high in the canopy, its luminous eyes narrowing as it considered the humans below.