Close. It had been too close. The knowledge of the shape of the knife held out to her had burned itself into Sloane's mind; she could see it even now, though its weight did not bow the fabric of her thoughts as it had.

"I am pleased you returned to us safely," Eris said—close by. Very close. Sloane startled back, surprised that Eris had come so near without Sloane hearing her. "Your loss at this stage would be… catastrophic."

Sloane's exhalation was half a laugh. "You have a gift for understatement," she said, to cover how rattled she truly was by the experience of re-forging Willbreaker.

Eris's mouth flickered, the ghost of a smile there and gone again. This close, Sloane thought, she looked pale—paler. Strained. Containing the Echo was wearing on her. "Do you hear it still?" Eris asked.

"Yes," Sloane admitted. If she was compromised, it was her responsibility to be honest about it. A moment later, remembering, her gaze flicked over Eris's shoulder to where the Echo hung, roiling with its own power, suspended in the grasp of Eris's magics. "Not sure I want to talk about this here."

"He cannot hear us," Eris said simply. As if she had thought it and the matter was done. Honestly, that was probably the exact case. That was the nature of a throne world.

Cautiously, Sloane experimented with relaxing her shoulders. It made her feel as if she might collapse at any slight gust, so she tightened them again. "What it offered me," she said abruptly. "'Bulwark against despair.' To never fear that I would be so overcome as to fall. But that would be falling. In itself."

"Yes," Eris said, in simple echo of Sloane's earlier assent. Her trifold gaze was intense, searching. "We feel foolish when we come back to ourselves. For the choices we almost made. We laugh and say how stupid we were. Of course that was wrong. Of course we would never."

Sloane's mouth tasted like ash. "I think that offer's always going to be there," she said—quiet, so quiet, that nagging fear that created the way in. "Ahsa has my back, but if I wake up one day and choose—just choose—to jump into that abyss? She's my ally, my partner. But an anchor doesn't do any good if the ship cuts the line."

"Choose not to. Again, and again." Eris's smile was softer, even sympathetic. "Someday, you may find it valuable to let that knife rest where you may reach it, because you know you will not. Trust yourself, Deputy Commander—Sloane. As I trust you, even when you are infuriating."

"It's my job," Sloane cracked weakly. Her ribs were a cage with the door opened, suddenly letting breath back in.

She hadn't had that slow, methodical proof with Ahsa. She had had a moment, a prayer, and no alternative. Maybe Eris wasn't entirely wrong. That unspeakable risk, back then, had saved her.

"Those feelings." Eris still regarded her with that searching intent. "In that pit. Those feelings are not false simply because we may look back on them later and laugh. Remember that."

Sloane would.