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Then someone steps out beneath the lower archways behind him. Not close enough to approach Rowan directly, but not far enough away to feel accidental either.

Every instinct inside me sharpens when I realize he’s following the exact same route through the courtyard.

Rowan keeps walking. The man follows.

My grip tightens around the glass when he disappears behind one of the stone pillars, only to reappear farther down the path, still tracking Rowan without once trying to get close to him directly. The guy is too old to be a student, and there’s something wrong about the way he moves through the crowd while keeping Rowan constantly inside his line of sight.

Everything else falls away as my attention locks onto him.

The comm in my pocket vibrates hard enough to break through my concentration. It’s Dad.

“Yeah, we’re coming now,” I answer, still tracking Rowan through the courtyard below.

The stranger keeps pace several steps behind him, weaving through the courtyard crowd without ever trying to get closer, all while watching Rowan with the kind of controlled patience that sets me on edge.

“Where’s Rowan Ashford right now?” Dad asks.

My gaze flicks back toward the path below. Rowan disappears beneath one of the archways before emerging farther down beside the fountain. The man follows again.

“Why?”

Static crackles softly through the multi-slate connection before Dad answers, the brief silence stretching just long enough to make something inside me go tight.

“We identified his sibling,” Dad says. “And we found the connection we were missing.”

Below me, Rowan slows near the outer staircase leading toward the mansion levels when the stranger disappears beneath the arches, only to reappear a moment later, watching him from a distance like he doesn’t want to be seen too clearly under the lights.

“And Ciaran?” His voice cuts through me this time, and everything inside me goes taut at the edge in his voice. “Rowan Ashford is not innocent.”

PART III

THE MELODY

There are people you love. Then there are people your soul learns by heart.

ROWAN, 16 YEARS

Irun.

I run and keep running because no matter what I do, they never stop following me. Not after I burned the page, not after the house searches, not after Ma started locking every door twice before bed.

Sometimes weeks pass without seeing them, and I almost convince myself it’s over. That they’ve given up. That burning the sheet worked.

Then I hear footsteps again.

A shadow lingers too long at the end of the lane. A man watches too carefully in the market. Boots follow behind me after dark.

Wake up. Wake up.

But every time I think I’ve escaped them, they come back.

And the older I get, the faster my body notices it. My pulse trips before I even see them properly, the feeling of being watched settling between my shoulders before I know where to look.

I know the sound of hunting now.

That night, I hear them near the lower market again. One pair of footsteps at first, then two. Not close enough to touch me, but close enough to keep following while their footsteps echo faster behind me the second I start walking quicker myself.

Wake up.