Arrow finally spoke. “Captain Thorne was the only one to recognize your group. He reported to General Wylder that you were a rogue band—concealing your identities at great risk to himself. He is now under Kalluri’s supervision.”
Why hadn’t he mentioned that before our report? The bastard had been waiting—testing us. Watching to see if we’d lie or leave something out. I gritted my teeth and shook it off, but a jolt spiked through themarekem. Scarlet’s shock snapped straight through the bond. I glanced over my shoulder, catching her wide-eyed before she schooled her expression.
Themarekemblazed between us, heat roiling like fire across still water—turning calm into boiling fury.
“Nothing about Captain Thorne is trustworthy,” Scarlet’s voice was sharp with conviction. “He shouldn’t be held to high standards for this mission. He’s probably confessing everything to Kalluri as we speak.”
Arrow’s gaze settled on her, cold and unwavering. “Michael Thorne has proven himself in every way throughout his career. He is on our side—”
“The only side he’s on is his own!” Scarlet exploded.
Oh,fuck.
Arrow straightened, his frame growing even larger with the swell of his temper. His silence carved through the room like a blade. But Scarlet didn’t retreat. She didn’t just step forward—she stormed around the table and jabbed a finger into his chest.
“Just like you,” she growled. “But I digress.” She threw her hands up, a mockery of calm. “We found what you were looking for, General.” She spat the title like venom.
“Easy,” I warned her silently through themarekem. “You don’t want to know what his punishment for insubordination is.”
She shoved me back through the bond with an element of air so hard I staggered. Doryan held me upright.
“There’s nothing he could do to me I haven’t survived before,” she snarled privately. She didn’t take her eyes off our father, and he didn’t take his off hers. The air between them was thick—pressurized with everything unsaid, everything buried.
Without breaking their stares, she slid her pack from her shoulder. Her movements were controlled. Like drawing a blade she’d waited years to wield. From inside, she retrieved the tomes and laid them on the table.
Their presence was heavier than their weight—ancient, humming with dormant magic. She hadn’t opened them since Mageia. Hadn’t spoken of them. Hadn’t even let them leave her side. Like a secret she was keeping not just from the world, but from herself.
No one questioned her. Not even me. I felt her distrust—her wariness. It echoed through themarekemeach night, a low, constant thrum. Maybe that’s why I stayed quiet. Maybe I knew that whatever those tomes held… it could unravel every ounce of stability she’d built lately.
I overheard her and Rhodes that night. Maybe I was the one who sparked their argument—Evil Fallon creeping to the surface, itching for chaos. I nudged her just enough to make her question Wylder. I thought the fallout would taste like victory.
And it did. For a moment.
But the high faded fast, replaced by something sharp and unfamiliar. Not satisfaction. Not triumph.
Guilt.
I had crouched behind a thick pine, hidden in the hush of the forest. Just close enough to catch their words. Just far enough that they’d never know I was there.
While Scarlet was meant to weave one piece of the prophecy, Rhodes was a thread of another. On that mountain months ago, I could see in Rhodes’s face how deeply he cared for my sister. And while I’d witnessed her holding herself back from fully giving her heart and soul to him, I knew she cared for him just as much—if not more.
Before I meddled, she probably saw Rhodes as her match, brought to her by fate. But fate is a sick and twisted game, one even I didn’t like playing. Because fate hadn’t brought him into her life to heal her, but to break her once and for all.
He was her beginning, and she was his end.
Our father broke the staring match first, finally dragging his gaze away from Scarlet. He turned with a clipped motion and opened one tome, running a cautious finger along the ancient cover before flipping it open.
“What are these?” he asked, voice low.
“This is the Mareki’s Key,” Scarlet replied.
The rest of us—all but Scarlet and our father—stepped in closer, drawn to the gravity of the books as he flipped through them. His eyes skimmed the pages with growing frustration. Then he picked up the second tome, repeating the process, this time slower. His brow creased in confusion.
“Is this some kind of joke?” he rasped, the sharp edge of rising anger unmistakable.
“No,” I said calmly. “Scarlet and I can see the lines of text. They’re hidden from everyone else. The tomes reveal themselves only to us.”
Arrow shook his head slowly, bitterly. “There has never been a single record or clue that suggested the Key was a tome, let alone a set of them. How are you sure?”
