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The archive door exploded inward.

Malachi stood in the doorway, his mask gone, his face twisted with rage. His gaze swept the room, taking in the scattered files, the torn photographs, the evidence of what had just happened.

His eyes locked onto Zinnia.

Then onto Rook.

Then onto me.

“What the fuck did you do?” he said.

“We gave the House something it can’t categorize.” Standing, I crossed my arms. “Or perhaps we gave it something so contaminated it won’t know how to use it. Either way, Zinnia’s not yours anymore.”

“She’s mine.” Malachi's voice was low, dangerous, exactly the kind of tone that preceded violence. “The House marked her. I claimed her. She’s mine.”

“She’s not a fucking object.” Zinnia stood, her legs still shaking, her voice raw. “And you don’t get to decide what I am or who I belong to.”

“I’m trying to save you.”

“By trapping me?” She stepped forward, her hands clenched into fists. “By using my desperation to force me into a performance I didn’t understand? By marking me like I’m your property?”

“I’ll make no apologies for doing what I had to do.”

“You did what you wanted to do.” Crossing the space between them, she stopped inches from his face. “You recognized me. You knew who I was. What I was to you. And you used me the same way you used me a hundred years ago.”

Malachi’s jaw tightened. “That’s not⁠—”

“It is.” Pulling the photograph from the table, she held it up. “Khaos showed me. I know what you did. I know you betrayed me for power. I know you got yourself bound to this place as punishment. And I know you’ve been planning something ever since I walked through that door.”

“I’m trying to fix it.”

“By doing the same thing again?” She threw the photograph at him. “By making decisions for me? By treating me like I’m too stupid or too broken to understand what’s happening?”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“I’m trying to turn the sacrifice into a gift.” His voice cracked. “I’m trying to take the debt onto myself so you can walk away free.”

“And what makes you think I want that?”

“Because you deserve better than this.” Reaching out, he caught her wrist. “You deserve better than me.”

“Maybe.” Pulling her wrist free, she stepped back. “But that’s my choice to make. Not yours.”

Malachi’s gaze flicked to Rook, then to me. “You let them touch her.”

“The House sent Rook after her,” I corrected. “And I showed her what happens when the House can’t tell the difference between a gift and a claim. Whether that helps her or damns her, we won’t know until the House finishes processing the record.”

“Not to me.” Crossing the room, he grabbed my shirt and slammed me against the nearest shelf. The wood cracked under the impact, and contracts rained down around us. “You had no right.”

“I had every right to show her the loophole.” Meeting his gaze, I kept my voice calm. “Whether she used it or whether we just gave the House more evidence against her, that’s not something I can control. The record is contaminated now. And contaminated records are harder to claim.”

Malachi’s fist connected with my jaw.

I tasted blood and laughed. “Feel better?”

“Not yet.” He hit me again, and the shelf behind me collapsed, spilling decades of falsified records across the floor. “You think you’re so fucking clever. You think you’ve figured out how to beat the House. But all you’ve done is make it angrier.”