She considered him. Ser Dalius, the ghost, the first person she had ever met here. She had lied to him from start to finish. Not about everything. But look what it had made. Cara sat in front of him. Helpless.

Cara reached out for his bindings, but her hands jerked away. She tried to force herself to touch them, but it was useless and both of them knew it. She whispered, voice cracking.

“I’m sorry.”

He made no move. Dalius’ eyes were closed. He didn’t breathe, he didn’t react. He just closed himself off. Cara looked at him.

“I tried, you know.”

No response. The young woman didn’t expect one. She grabbed the lid of a coffin, slowly levering herself up. Leaning against it as her weak body struggled to hold her steady. Cara panted. She spoke, not to him but to herself. A confession.

“I really…I really did try. Not at first. At first, I was trying to be clever. But then I got my big chance. I met a girl. Violetta. She was kind. She and her father took me in, and I reached a village. Landsmecht. I made a fool of myself, but then—there was a night when I could do something. When I got my chance. And

you know what? It worked. I made a difference. I took my role and I did something. Something small, as small as making a girl stop crying. But I did it. I had my part.”

The ghost never said a word. Cara glanced at him, and shook her head. Or was her body out of energy?

Shaking, she leaned on the coffin.

“It was going well. I was having fun. Even after that—I liked entertaining them. I could do it. When the

[Necromancer] came I told them it was my fault and I tried to help. I even did. But then—I actually did help. With a song. With a song, I turned the tide of a battle. With music, Dalius.”

She wasn’t focused on him anymore. Cara saw herself singing, remembered standing on the roof.

“Then I froze up. That’s when…I gave up. Me. I had a part. Be the hero. And I didn’t do it. Me. The

[Actor]. I was afraid. So I lied. Tried to get out of it. Then—someone hit some sense into me and I went out there to strut my hour on the stage. I failed, and everyone died.”

She was crying again. Cara’s hands cut into the stone lip of the coffin. She forced the words out, her genuine confession.

Her failure.

“I tried. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t play the hero. I like being other characters because being me isn’t special or brave or good. I did try. But you know what?”

She turned her face to him, smiling bitterly through her tears. She saw the vague, glowing form of the

[Knight] there.