Quill had said Article Seven anyway.
The lilies kept rotting in the heat.
The basin kept shining.
And every witness in the room had to stand there and look.
46
Quill said Zenith Tower, and the Mark under my sleeve answered like a struck nerve.
This was not Astra’s Pull.
It was mine.
The part of me I had spent sixteen years teaching to keep buried.
The hall remained where it was, full of lilies and candle heat and students trapped in formal clothes, but I felt none of it cleanly.
Article Seven had been named. Zenith Tower too.
The old suppression under my skin heard both.
Across the hall, Astra stood at the basin with Caspian Ashford’s hand over hers. The bond between themburned bright enough that every witness could see it. The other two lines stayed open in the water.
One to Marsh.
One to me.
Ashford stood beside her like a man who had finally chosen a place and expected the world to object.
I kept my feet where they were.
That was harder than it looked.
The Mark on my forearm had gone dark at the edges. Not brighter. Darker. The way old iron darkened before heat showed red.
I pulled my sleeve lower.
Juno saw.
Her hand remained on the small witness basin, but her eyes came to mine.
Do not.
She left it unsaid.
She had never needed many words to be inconvenient.
I stayed where instructors were supposed to stand.
Quill’s voice carried over the room.
“The formal remains paused until Tower notice is received. The doors remain closed. Astra Verita will remain at the basin.”
Ashford stayed beside her.
Marsh stayed across the hall.
