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“Before or after the royal classification tag?”

“Before.”

I stared at him. “And after we found that?”

He said nothing.

Something in my chest tightened, and I pressed a hand flat against it. “We found a restricted royal marker attached to altered reproductive data.”

“Yes.” He didn’t look away from me, but I watched him swallow.

“We found your dead identity in those records.”

“Yes.”

“We found other Ghost identifiers.”

“Yes.” His voice came out lower than before.

“Central Review sent enforcement officers after me.”

His expression hardened. “Yes.”

“And your mission packet was built before half the things I supposedly did.”

“Yes.” He said it quietly, and the word landed like something he had been holding for months.

Every answer made the next question heavier. I let a breath out through my nose and asked it anyway.

“So tell me why, after all of that, you never once said we should go to Anik. We have been moving away from royal authorities all this time.”

Veyr did not answer.

There.

That was the first honest thing he had done since I opened the file. Not the silence itself—what it revealed. He could have argued. He could have given me one more reason. He didn’t, because there wasn’t one that would survive.

I looked at him. Really looked.

Strike Commander. Decorated warrior. Officially dead for eight years. A mother who believed she had buried a son. A sister who had spent almost a decade thinking her brother was gone.

Strike Commanders worked directly for the Crown.

Anik had known Veyr. Of course he had.

Veyr had not been some anonymous soldier. He had commanded warriors. Received commendations. His death had mattered enough for honors.

My anger changed shape.

Slowly.

Dangerously.

“Anik knows who you are.”

His face closed. Not enough.

“He knew who I was.”