Page 150

“So will the district.”

“Yes.”

“And if I let the ritual complete because I’m worried about keeping a nicer percentage of my humanity, that is just cowardice with clean handwriting.”

“Your humanity is not trivial.”

“I know.”

“Sable will not forgive you for treating yourself as expendable.”

“I know that too.”

“Isolde will be furious.”

A laugh scrapes out of me. “She is furious as a resting state.”

“She will hold you accountable for survival.”

“Good.”

The next pulse from the estate rattles the witness room hard enough to make wax seals jump on the table. Dust drifts from the ceiling beams. Outside, someone screams in the hall, and Syrenya’s voice cuts through the noise with a command sharp enough to restore order by insult alone.

Rhazek lowers his hand from the doorframe. “Then choose with full knowledge. Evolution may save them and cost you. Retreat may preserve you and condemn them. Slaughter will give Vaerith his story before the summoning consumes his audience.”

“I’m not retreating.”

“I did not expect you to.”

“I’m also done giving Vaerith what he wants.”

“Then map his lines. Find where the ritual breathes. A summoning of this scale requires anchors, secondary conduits, and sacrifice paths disguised as ward reinforcement. Break the rhythm before the entity fully seats itself.”

“Absorb the anchors?”

“Drain, redirect, sever, or burn them. Absorption is only one answer.”

“That almost sounded like restraint advice.”

“It was.”

“Awful. I hate it.”

Rhazek’s mouth shifts by a fraction, close enough to amusement to be unsettling. “Good. Hatred sharpens memory.”

When I leave the witness room, the trade hall has become organized chaos. Sable has half the human witnesses moving toward interior walls. Syrenya is directing minor nobles with a fan as if conducting an orchestra of cowards. Isolde stands at the central table with evidence packets spread before her, speaking to Kairven’s nephew and Lady Othrel in rapid, precise phrases that make both nobles look increasingly alarmed and increasingly useful.

She sees me.

The bond tightens, and her attention leaves the room just long enough to find my face.

“What did he say?” she asks when I reach her.

“That Vaerith is trying to raise something big enough to turn the district into a cautionary tale.”

Othrel’s cane strikes the floor. “A forbidden summoning beneath a populated wardline? That arrogant parasite.”

Kairven’s nephew swallows. “Can it be stopped?”