Penelope met his eyes with cold composure. “Surprise.”
Mingxi rose behind her, expression unreadable, tails lifted in a protective arc. “She is alive. The portal nearly tore her in half.”
The room erupted.
“Where were you attacked?”
“Were there others?”
“What broke the Sinclair wards?”
“Was she followed?”
“Was it an assassin?”
Penelope spoke over them all. “The dead rose.”
The chamber fell silent.
She stood tall for three seconds, and then her knees gave way. Mingxi caught her before she hit the marble, his arm sliding behind her back, steady and warm.
“Easy.”
A tremor ran through her—not fear, not collapse—something closer to grief sharpened into steel. Her hand curled against his sleeve.
“I didn’t falter.”
“I know.”
She steadied herself, inhaling once, pulling her composure back into place. Mingxi watched her with a look that was half protectiveness, half realization—an unspoken understanding that her awakening was not small or accidental.
A shout broke the quiet. “Councilor Shen, explain yourself!”
Mingxi stepped forward, composed and precise. “Lady Penelope’s survival is explanation enough.”
A viciously trembling finger stabbed toward Penelope. “She was supposed to be at Arcaneum still,” someone snapped.
“She clearly is not,” Mingxi replied.
“How did a revenant breach the Sinclair estate?”
“How many were there?”
“Is the necromancer still present?”
“Is she a target?”
“Or”—Councilor Thane’s gaze narrowed—“did she cause it?”
Mingxi’s tails froze midair.
Penelope lifted her head sharply, fatigue forgotten.
Councilor Shen’s voice iced over. “Choose your next words carefully.”
Thane continued anyway. “Her magic awakened the same night the Sinclair wards collapsed. Her signature is unregistered. She returns within a destroyed portal. That is not a coincidence—that is a threat.”
Shen stepped between Thane and Penelope. “She is a survivor. She is a witness. And she is under my protection.”
