Lilith woke that morning with a strange sense of calm.

  Too calm.

  It settled over her like a heavy blanket, muffling her thoughts, dulling her usual alertness. She went through the morning routine mechanically—washing her face, attending prayers, eating breakfast—but something felt off.

  Why am I so relaxed? I shouldn't be. There's too much to worry about. The Inquisitor watching us. Sister Mercy's questions. Learning about the Salamanders...

  The Salamanders.

  She'd completely forgotten. She'd meant to ask Sister Marian about them yesterday, but the conversation about the walking stick and the ball had distracted her.

  I need to get back on track. Can't afford to be careless.

  But even as she thought it, the urgency didn't quite land. The anxiety that usually drove her felt... distant.

  And that bothered her more than anything.

  During morning chores, Lilith found herself staring at nothing.

  She stood in the kitchen, a half-peeled potato in one hand, knife in the other, completely motionless.

  "Lilith?"

  She blinked. Sister Prudence was looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

  "You've been standing there for three minutes. Are you unwell?"

  "I—" Lilith looked down at the potato. "Sorry, Sister. Just thinking."

  "Well, think while you work. We have forty more of those to prepare."

  "Yes, Sister."

  She resumed peeling, but her mind kept drifting.

  What was I thinking about? I can't remember. Why can't I remember?

  It started small.

  During afternoon education, the tech-priest was droning on about the history of the Great Crusade when Lilith's vision... shifted.

  Just for a second.

  The other children in the classroom flickered. Their faces distorted, skin rippling and reforming into something grotesque. Eyes multiplying. Mouths opening too wide. Limbs bending wrong.

  Lilith gasped, her right eye squeezing shut.

  When she opened it again, everything was normal.

  What was that?

  Her heart was racing now, the unnatural calm cracking slightly as her chest starts to beat loudly.

  It happened again. Like before. Like when I first woke up after the crash.

  She looked at Eve, who sat beside her as always.

  Eve looked normal. Perfectly normal. No distortion. No horror.

  Just her twin, watching her with concerned red eyes.

  Eve reached over and squeezed her hand.

  The touch helped. A little.

  But the unease still remained.

  That night, Lilith couldn't sleep.

  She lay in bed beside Eve, staring at the ceiling, her mind churning.

  I shouldn't be this calm. Something's wrong. Something's been wrong. What’s happening?

  A question whispered sweetly into her mind.

  What happened?

  And then the memories came flooding back.

  The ship. The glass tube. The servitors dragging her away. The Magos speaking in mechanical tones. The experiments—the pain, the agony, the sensation of her arm being severed and growing back.

  The Warp.

  She remembered it now, vividly. Though she never thought about it ever since it happened, always thinking about what she should do next. Now, it’s all back as if they were resurfacing to remind her. The voices. The presences. The overwhelming sensation of being watched by things vast and terrible that she can’t comprehend. Losing control and killing everyone.

  I could have killed Eve.

  Her breathing quickened.

  Eve stirred beside her, red eyes opening immediately.

  "Lilith?"

  "I'm fine," Lilith whispered, though her voice was shaking. "Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep."

  Eve didn't look convinced, but she settled back down, her hand finding Lilith's and holding tight.

  The warmth helped.

  But the memories didn't fade.

  Day Two

  During breakfast, Lilith's vision flickered again.

  Longer this time.

  The children around her became things. Writhing masses of flesh and bone. Mouths filled with too many teeth. Eyes that stared with malevolent intelligence.

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  She dropped her spoon with a clatter.

  Everyone looked at her.

  Normal faces. Human faces.

  It was just in my head. Just a hallucination. Not real.

  But it had felt real.

  Eve squeezed her hand under the table, grounding her.

  "Lilith?" Lysander asked from across the table, his voice concerned. "You okay? You look really pale."

  "I'm fine," she managed. "Just... tired."

  "Maybe you should see Sister Marian?"

  "I'm fine."

  But she wasn't.

  Day Three

  The distortions and hallucinations were getting worse.

  During chores, Lilith scrubbed the same section of floor three times because she kept spacing out, her mind drifting to places she didn't want to go. Even if she tried to distract herself but her thoughts can’t stay still.

  The ship. The bodies. The twisted metal and flesh.

  I did that. I killed them all. Eve could have been one of them.

  "Lilith!"

  She looked up. Sister Prudence stood over her, expression stern.

  "You've been scrubbing that same spot for ten minutes. What's wrong with you today?"

  "Nothing, Sister. I'm sorry."

  Sister Prudence's eyes narrowed. "You've been distracted all week. If you're ill, report to Sister Marian. If not, focus on your work."

  "Yes, Sister."

  But focusing was getting harder.

  Day Four

  Lilith was having a conversation with Lysander during free time when it happened again.

  Mid-sentence, his face changed.

  His skin peeled back, revealing muscle and sinew. His eyes sank into his skull, replaced by empty black voids. His mouth stretched impossibly wide, filled with needle-like teeth.

  And when he spoke, the words came out as sounds—inhuman sounds. Clicks and screeches and wet, gurgling noises that made her skin crawl.

  Lilith's hand flew to her right eye, rubbing frantically.

  Not real. Not real. He's just a kid. He's normal. This isn't real.

  She blinked hard, once, twice.

  Lysander's face returned to normal.

  "—and that's why I think the flamer is cooler than the bolter. Lilith? Hey, are you listening?"

  "I—yeah. Sorry. Flamer. Cooler. Got it."

  Lysander frowned. "Are you sure you're okay? You've been acting really weird lately."

  "I'm fine," she lied. "Just tired."

  Eve, sitting beside her, was staring at her with open worry.

  She knows something's wrong. But she doesn't know what to do.

  Neither did Lilith.

  Day Five

  The hallucinations were constant now.

  Every conversation was a battle to distinguish real words from the chittering, scraping sounds that overlaid them. Every face flickered between human and monstrous. Every room felt like it was closing in, the walls rippling with textures that shouldn't exist.

  Only Eve remained unchanged.

  No matter how bad the distortions got, Eve always looked the same. Human. Real. Safe.

  Lilith clung to that anchor desperately.

  Sister Mercy approached her after evening prayers.

  "Lilith, dear. May I speak with you?"

  Lilith looked up at her.

  For a split second, Sister Mercy's kind face twisted into something with too many eyes and a mouth that dripped ichor.

  Lilith flinched.

  Then the vision cleared.

  "I—yes, Sister."

  Sister Mercy's expression was concerned. "You've been unwell this week. Everyone has noticed. Sister Prudence is worried. I'm worried. Will you tell me what's wrong?"

  How do I explain this? How do I tell her I'm seeing monsters everywhere? That I can't tell what's real anymore? Even if I can explain it, they will just see it as something heretical.

  "Just... nightmares," Lilith said weakly. "Bad dreams. They'll pass."

  Sister Mercy didn't look convinced. "If you need to talk—"

  "I'm fine, Sister. Really."

  Liar, a voice whispered in the back of her mind. You're falling apart.

  Day Six

  Lilith barely slept anymore.

  Every time she closed her eye, she saw the Warp and what could have been. Felt those presences reaching for her. Heard their voices promising things she couldn't understand but knew were terrible.

  She'd wake up gasping, covered in sweat, Eve's arms around her.

  "Bad dream," she'd whisper. "Just a bad dream."

  But Eve knew better.

  During the day, Lilith functioned on autopilot. Going through the motions. Speaking when spoken to. Moving when directed.

  But inside, she was screaming.

  I can't do this. I can't keep pretending everything's fine. I'm losing my mind. Everything is mixing up and I’m overwhelmed. I don’t know what to think.

  The hallucinations were no longer brief flickers. They lasted minutes now. Entire conversations conducted while the person speaking looked like something dragged out of a nightmare.

  And she couldn't tell anyone.

  If I tell them, they'll think I'm corrupted. The Inquisitor will come back. They'll execute me. Or worse.

  So she suffered in silence.

  Day Seven

  Lilith woke in the middle of the night, mumbling.

  Words in a language she didn't recognize spilled from her lips, her body twitching, sweat soaking through her nightclothes.

  Eve sat up immediately, grabbing her shoulders.

  "Lilith. Lilith!"

  Lilith's right eye snapped open, unseeing, staring at something that wasn't there.

  "They're watching," she whispered. "They won't stop watching. They want in. They want—"

  "Lilith!"

  Eve shook her harder.

  Lilith blinked, and suddenly she was back. In their room. In bed. Eve's worried face filling her vision.

  "I—" Her voice was hoarse. "I'm okay. Sorry. Bad dream."

  But she wasn't okay.

  And Eve knew it.

  The pattern repeated. Night after night. Lilith would fall asleep, only to wake up hours later, mumbling incoherently, thrashing, sometimes even crying.

  Eve did everything she could. Held her. Spoke to her in those simple, one-word reassurances. Stayed close.

  But it wasn't enough.

  Whatever was happening to Lilith was beyond Eve's ability to fix.

  And Eve, for all her strength, felt utterly helpless.

  Day Eight

  Lilith didn't get out of bed.

  She tried. She really did. But when the bell rang for morning prayers, her body wouldn't respond.

  Everything felt heavy. Hot. Wrong.

  "Lilith?" Eve's voice, distant and muffled.

  Lilith tried to answer, but her throat was too dry.

  Eve's hand touched her forehead.

  Even through the haze, Lilith could feel it—her skin was burning.

  Fever. I have a fever.

  Eve pulled back, her expression shifting into something close to panic.

  She didn't know what a fever was. Didn't understand sickness in the way a normal person would. But she knew something was very, very wrong.

  Lilith watched through her blurred vision as Eve stood abruptly and ran from the room.

  Don't leave, she wanted to say. Please don't leave me alone.

  But the words wouldn't come.

  Eve burst into Sister Mercy's office without knocking.

  The nun looked up, startled. "Eve? What—"

  "Lilith," Eve said, her voice tight and urgent. "Something's wrong. Please, help."

  Sister Mercy was on her feet immediately. "Show me."

  Eve led her at a run back to their dormitory.

  Sister Mercy took one look at Lilith—pale, sweating, breathing heavily, barely conscious—and her expression shifted into professional concern.

  "Fever," she said immediately. "High one, by the looks of it. Help me get her up. We need to move her to the medicae ward."

  Eve moved without hesitation, lifting Lilith as if she weighed nothing.

  Sister Mercy blinked at the display of strength but didn't comment.

  They carried Lilith through the halls—Sister Mercy directing, Eve carrying—until they reached the medicae ward.

  Sister Marian looked up from her work, saw them coming, and immediately cleared a cot.

  "Lay her here. What happened?"

  "Fever," Sister Mercy said. "High temperature, delirium, possibly dehydration."

  Sister Marian began examining Lilith immediately—checking her pulse, her breathing, her eyes.

  "Her body's fighting something," she muttered. "Infection? Warp exposure? Hard to say."

  She began preparing cold compresses, medicine, fluids.

  Eve stood beside the cot, her hand gripping Lilith's tightly.

  Lilith's breathing was labored, her skin flushed and hot to the touch. Her right eye was half-open but unfocused, seeing nothing.

  Eve's face remained blank, expression neutral.

  But inside, she was screaming.

  Don't leave me. Please be okay. Please.

  She held Lilith's hand tighter, as if she could anchor her twin to consciousness through will alone.

  Sister Marian worked quickly, efficiently, applying cold compresses to Lilith's forehead, administering something from a vial, adjusting her position on the cot.

  "She'll be all right," Sister Marian said, though her tone was uncertain. "We just need to get the fever down. Keep her comfortable. Let her body fight whatever this is."

  Eve didn't respond. She just stood there, holding Lilith's hand, red eyes fixed on her twin's face.

  Come back, she thought desperately. Please come back.

  Lilith's breathing continued, ragged and labored.

  And Eve waited.