A torn seam in the canvas gave me a sliver of the threshold—New York’s sodium smear, distant and wrong, freedom trapped behind glass. The airship lurched. The view vanished. My stomach climbed into my throat and dropped out again as the deck tried to throw me off. Hot oil clawed up my windpipe; I tasted it. Rope, wet and gritty, snapped my cheek when I crawled. “Stay down!” My voice scraped raw over the bucking timbers. “Heads low. Hands on the person in front of you—now.” Boots skidded behind me. Somebody’s breath broke into thin, panicked squeaks. Someone else sobbed in tiny bursts, like they couldn’t afford a full inhale. A lantern swung from a hook, light smearing across faces in bruised gold. Six mortals. Maybe seven. Packed in so tight the hold felt smaller every second. Kevin Nguyen wedged himself against a rib of the hull, fingers hooked into a net. His glasses sat crooked again, and a thin cut at his brow sent blood down his cheek in a slow line. “Talk to me.” His voice came out too steady for the chaos. “Where’s the failure point?” “Does it look like I’ve got a dashboard?” The snap in my tone surprised even me. I swallowed, forced the edges down. “Rigging line. Hinge. Something’s slipping. If we lose altitude—” “If we crash, the court closes around the wreck.” His jaw clenched hard enough to shift the cut. “Yeah. Okay.” A crate slid and slammed the bulkhead, splitting with a crack that made everyone flinch. Dried herbs and something like ground bone puffed into the air. Sour green hit first—crushed leaves—then rot underneath, wet and sweet. Across the corridor mouth, a thread of glamour shimmered. Not wind. Not dust. It stretched, anchored, and snapped a loose strap tight against the wall. Another thread followed. Then another. Like invisible fingers stitching the room smaller. Kevin’s voice shrank. “That’s not wind.” “It’s a net.” My mouth went dry. A scream tore down from above. Not human. It sliced through the hold like a blade finding a weak spot. Rafe Nash filled the hatchway—broad shoulders, stillness, the kind that made space back away. He didn’t sprint in. He moved like a door swinging shut, one glance taking in the captives, the tightening threads, my hands already searching for something to brace. “Down.” “One word?” I barked, because fear needed somewhere to go. “They’re pinning us. We need—” “I know.” No contraction. Not even now. His eyes flicked to my wrist. The briar-ink band clung there, warm as a brand. “Move them.” “That’s the plan,” I shot back. “If the deck holds long enough.” Rafe stepped inside and lifted the fallen crate like it was empty, shoving it into a corner to block the roll. He wedged himself into place without asking permission or thanks. The ship shuddered; wood groaned. Metal screamed high and thin, and it drilled straight through my teeth. I dragged myself forward, palms skating on oil-slick planks. Vibration climbed into my bones. My boots hunted for traction and found none. My knees burned through cloth. A woman—late thirties, brown skin, hair in a tight braid—clutched her own wrists. Purple rope marks flared against her skin. She snapped her gaze to mine like I’d done this to her personally, like I could fix gravity with a look. “Look at me.” I planted my voice like a stake. “You. Breathe with me. In—hold—out. Good. Keep doing that.” Her nostrils flared. She tried. It was ugly, but it was breath. “Hands linked,” I continued. “Don’t let go. Even if you’re scared.” A young guy with a bruised mouth shook his head hard, like he could fling panic away. “You said we were getting out.” “I’m still getting you out.” My jaw ached from clenching. “But right now you stay alive. That’s the order.” My fingers found a loose harness strap—leather, cracked, soaked with oil. I yanked, and my teeth caught my lip. Blood flooded my mouth, copper and hot. I swallowed it down and crawled toward the forward hinge where the hold met the upper deck. That hinge had been fine an hour ago. Fine enough to make me believe. Now it gaped. A metal pin had backed halfway out, vibrating in and out like it wanted to escape more than we did. Every lurch widened the gap. Cold wet wind knifed through, carrying mist that beaded on my lashes and stuck them together. “Okay.” The word came out between my teeth. “Behave.” Kevin crawled up beside me with a thin metal brace scavenged from a broken bunk frame, ends jagged. His hands shook. He kept them useful. “Zip ties would be nice,” he panted. “Or duct tape. Some—some reality.” “Reality’s overrated.” My laugh sounded wrong in my own ears. I threaded the harness strap around the hinge. The leather fought—stiff, slick. I jammed my thumb into the gap, shoved the brace into place, and cinched the strap tight until my knuckles went white. The ship bucked. My shoulder slammed the wall. Sparks spat overhead. The lantern swung wild, shadows flailing across the planks. Something cold brushed my wrist. The bracelet heated in answer—quick, eager, wrong. I shoved my forearm into my sleeve like cotton could stop a spell. “Rafe—” He caught the glamour thread with bare fingers. It hissed. Smoke curled off his skin. His face didn’t even twitch. “Move,” he ordered. “Now.” Behind us, the mortals huddled close. A whisper of prayer, frantic and thin. Someone spat, sharp as a challenge. The brace held. One breath. Two. “That’s it.” I let my voice crack like a whip. “Minutes, maybe less. Everybody up. Single file. Hands linked. Eyes down.” The braided woman’s throat bobbed. “You want us to… not look? That’s insane.” “Stare at your feet.” I jabbed my chin toward the planks. “Stare at my boots. Pretend we’re on a subway platform and someone’s playing music too loud.” A shaky laugh burst out of somebody and died immediately, like it hurt to spend that much air. Kevin shifted closer, his shoulder brushing mine. Heat jumped across the contact—too much comfort in the middle of a wreck. I hated how my body wanted to lean into it. “Key?” he asked, low. My hand went to the sling across my chest. The snapped harness cradled the object against my ribs—cold metal warmed by my skin, heavy with meaning. Not a house key. More like a piece of law sharpened into shape. Sometimes it pulsed, faint as a second heartbeat. “Still here.” We moved. The line of captives crept forward, each hand clamped on the shoulder ahead. Fingers went pale where they gripped. The ship rocked and their chain swayed as one, a single creature trying not to fall apart. A horn sounded outside—distant, muffled. Like something clearing its throat in the dark. “They’re close,” Kevin muttered. “Then don’t stop.” The upper hatch loomed, half-open. Beyond it, torn canvas and night wind and, through another rip, the taunting smear of New York. Asphalt. Exhaust. Street-cart grease. Home. My mouth watered, stupid and desperate. Something cracked against the hull—threads, not arrows—snapping into place, sewing through canvas, tightening. Air around the hatch thickened, pressing in like the ship was deciding it was done pretending. Rafe slammed his shoulder into the hatch rim. Wood splintered. Space appeared where there hadn’t been any. “Go.” I shoved the first captive through. “Move. Now. Don’t freeze.” The word freeze flashed hot in my skull, bus-crash memory clawing for the surface. I bit down hard and swallowed it. Not now. The second captive stumbled; the third caught her, hauled her. They kept going because I gave them something to follow—because fear sometimes listened to a voice that wouldn’t shake. Kevin started up after them. I stayed at the base of the hatch with one hand on the sling and one on the brace strap, checking tension. The hinge shook. It held. A shadow slid across the opening. Not an absence of light. Something with intention. It leaned in, featureless, and my bracelet heated again. The key answered, pulsing against my ribs. “Not tonight,” I hissed. Pressure shoved at my grip—no fingers, no hand, just the world deciding my hold didn’t matter. I covered the sling with my forearm. “You want it?” My voice scraped raw. “Fine. Come through me.” The pressure intensified. Cold snapped up my forearm, racing along veins. My bones went brittle in my imagination, glass ready to shatter. “No.” It came out ragged. “That’s mine. That’s ours.” Kevin’s head popped into view above, eyes huge behind crooked lenses. “Sofi—” “Keep them moving,” I snapped. “Don’t—” The ship lurched hard. The floor tilted, sudden and sick, like a board giving way underfoot. My stomach flipped. Reflex tightened my fingers around the sling. Reflex betrayed me. Cold snapped again—clean, surgical. Not pain. A rule being enforced. My hand uncurled against my will. The key tore free with a sound like silk ripping. It shot through the hatch into night, a single glint swallowed by shadow. A blank space opened in my chest where the weight had been. Air rushed in, then out, like someone had yanked breath from my lungs. “No—!” I lunged up the ladder, nails scraping wood. The bracelet flared hot. Pressure clamped my wrist and forced my arm down. I slapped at the rung anyway—useless, desperate, human. Kevin swore, sharp and ugly. “They took it. They took the—” “I know.” My voice shook. I hated that more than the loss. Above us, captives started shouting—overlapping panic. “Where is it?” “She had it—” “Did you drop it?” “Was that the—” “Shut up!” The yell tore my throat open. “Shut up and move.” Iron flooded my mouth. The airship groaned like it wanted to fold in half. The brace strap creaked, and the hinge began slipping again. Rafe reached down and closed a hand around my forearm. Firm. Not cruel. “Leave it.” My fingers flexed, still burning. Cold lingered in my bones like winter stuck under the skin. “I can’t. That was the only—” “The ship will fall.” His bluntness slapped hard. “You will die here. They will die here.” A shape dropped into the hold behind us. Court guard. Masked. Silent. Then another. Another. They moved like shadows remembering how to wear bodies. Glamour threads stitched across the corridor behind them, sealing off retreat. The hold tightened until it felt like it had lungs. “Up!” I barked at the last captives. “Go, go, go!” A guard shoved a wounded courtier forward between them. Pale shirt soaked red at the abdomen. Blood dropped in thick, warm ropes. His knees buckled. The guard didn’t catch him. Didn’t steady him. Just pushed him into my path like a problem tossed onto the floor. I stepped back on instinct. My bracelet went hot-hot-hot. My hands moved before my mind could keep up—gloved fingers pressing, assessing, pinning. Warm blood slicked my palms and soaked into seams. The smell hit copper and salt, with something floral underneath, like crushed blossoms. I tried to pull away. My wrists locked. The compulsion didn’t slam me. It guided me—subtle as a leash, absolute as gravity. “Stop.” The word scraped out. I stared at my own hands like they belonged to someone else. “Stop—” The courtier gasped, eyes rolling white. A sound tore out of him—maybe my name, maybe a curse. Kevin froze on the ladder above, staring down like he’d never met me. A captive shouted from above. “What are you doing?” “I don’t have a choice.” The sentence sounded like an excuse. It tasted like one. A glamour thread slid along my arm, cold as grave water. It tightened around my wrist, then loosened, satisfied. The court wanted proof I could be aimed. My fingers pressed the wound. Too deep. Wrong angle. The blood didn’t behave like blood; it pulsed in time with the ship’s vibration, as if listening to the same engine. I tore a strip from my own shirt with my teeth and packed it hard. My arms shook—less from effort than from pressure building inside me with nowhere to go. “I need light.” Nobody moved. “Light.” I snapped the word like a whip. “Now.” Kevin ripped the lantern off its hook and swung it down. The flame flared, then steadied behind cracked glass. “Don’t look at her like that.” His voice tightened as he looked up at the captives. “She’s—she’s being—” “Used,” the bruised-mouth guy spat. “Like a pet.” My jaw locked. My hands kept working. Rafe stepped forward and blocked the corridor with his body—muscle and quiet threat. Blade still sheathed. He didn’t need steel to make the point. “She will finish.” His gaze didn’t flicker from the masked guards. “Then you will move.” A guard leaned in. No face, but the attention pressed close—hungry, pleased. “Tell Thorne Ashworth-Blackwood to come himself,” I rasped, not looking up. “If he wants me to play healer, he can watch.” Silence. Control, neat and cruel. Heat surged through my palms—too strong, not mine. It spilled into the wound like fire forced into a crack. Bleeding slowed. Tissue drew together ugly-fast, skin trying to outrun itself. The courtier choked, then dragged in air like he’d been drowning. My gloves stuck to him. When I lifted my hands, a thin string of blood stretched and snapped. The masked guard clicked their tongue once. Approval. I jerked back and wiped my gloves on my pants, smearing red across dark fabric. “Happy?” The guard moved aside. The courtier slumped against the wall, breathing. Alive. My stomach twisted, because alive mattered even when it was wrong. The captives stared down from the hatch with something colder than gratitude. Calculation. Doubt. The moment a group decides you might be the danger. I took one step toward the ladder. The bracelet cooled, satisfied, like it had gotten what it wanted. “Move,” I told them. “Now. While they’re busy admiring themselves.” The braided woman climbed down a rung, eyes narrowed. “That key was our way out. You promised.” “I know what I said.” Pennies filled my mouth. “I didn’t hand it over. They took it.” The bruised-mouth guy shook his head, slow. “It took you. Look at you.” Kevin’s voice snapped in, quick. “Stop. You think she wanted to—” “Then why’d it listen to her?” the guy demanded. “Why’d it open her hand like that?” Because the court had written me into their paperwork. Because my hands were a lever. Because I was the wrong kind of witness. None of it mattered to them. The ship dropped—a sudden, sickening dip that turned stomachs and stole breath. The upper deck screamed with shifting weight. Someone above shrieked. “Down!” I yelled. “Down, down—brace!” We hit hard. Wood slammed into wood. My teeth clacked. The lantern swung and cracked its glass. Fire flared, sputtered, then steadied again, smaller and meaner. The airship didn’t slam into the earth. It sagged into something softer—thick mist, dense air, a pocket between worlds. It settled like an exhausted animal dropping to its knees. Metal groaned, long and low, vibrating my ribs. Mist pressed against torn canvas, pale as bone. A horn sounded again, closer. Another answered it, distant. Like a pack calling. Rafe swore under his breath. Rare, and it cut the air clean. He looked up at the hatch. “They will board.” “Then we make a pocket.” My legs started shaking the second I moved, as if my body had been holding itself together on borrowed time. My hands still burned where the key had been pried away. I shoved aside broken crates, dragged a torn sailcloth across a gap, wedged it in. Damp canvas filled my nose. Splinters bit my fingers. Kevin crouched beside me, breath coming hard. “Sofi. Hey. You’re bleeding.” He pointed at my wrist. The bracelet had rubbed my skin raw. A thin line of blood seeped where briar-ink kissed flesh. “Not now.” “It’s always now,” he muttered, already tearing a strip from his sleeve. He wrapped my wrist fast, careful. This time his touch stayed a fraction away from intimate—like he didn’t dare take more in front of everyone. A captive coughed. Deep. Wet. The sound turned my stomach. “Sit.” I scanned faces as I pointed. “All of you. Back against that beam. Knees up. Small.” They hesitated. The braided woman sat first, jaw set. Others followed in uneven waves. Fear could get obedience where trust wouldn’t. I grabbed a tin cup from a crate that hadn’t broken. Something sloshed inside—broth or tea. It smelled like salt and onion and kitchens that didn’t belong to this place. Kevin lifted another tin. Steam curled up, thin and precious. “Who packed this?” The question slipped out of me. Delphine Thibodaux’s laugh flickered through my memory—honeyed, sharp. Help, with strings. Nothing free here. Nothing. I set the tins down between the captives like an offering. “Small sips. Don’t chug. You’ll puke.” Javier—bruised mouth, angry eyes—glared at me. “Why should we listen?” I swallowed the first answer and forced out the second. “Because I’m still the only one counting. And I’m not letting you scatter. That’s how they pick you off.” A young woman—maybe twenty, hair hacked short like she’d done it herself—reached with shaking hands. She sipped. A sound caught in her throat, half sob, half relief. I crouched in front of them, knees popping. The floor still vibrated, faint now, like a heartbeat fading. Mist seeped through seams and cooled my cheeks. A salvaged wool blanket—scratchy, stiff—came up into my hands. I draped it over the huddled group. “Okay.” I kept my voice low. “Reset. Everybody look at me.” Eyes lifted. Some hostile. Some terrified. One pair looked empty, like the person inside had stepped back to avoid the pain. “Breathing.” I held up my fingers and counted. “Inhale four. Hold two. Exhale six. Ready. In—two—three—four. Hold. Out—two—three—four—five—six.” They followed, ragged at first. A chorus of uneven breath. The blanket rose and fell until it almost looked coordinated. Kevin knelt by the tins and poured small portions, passing them hand to hand. When he handed me a cup, his fingers brushed mine. Heat jumped—quick and wrong and alive. The braided woman took a sip. Steam fogged her lashes. Her shoulders dropped a fraction. “Name,” I told her. She blinked. “What?” “Your name. I’m not shouting ‘hey you’ if you start to fade.” Her mouth tightened, then she gave it up. “Tanya.” “Okay, Tanya.” I nodded and pointed at the bruised-mouth guy. “You.” “Javier.” It came out like it cost him. “Javier.” I let it sit between us. A thin bridge, swaying. He lifted his chin. “And the key?” A door slammed inside my ribs at the word. The emptiness where it had been throbbed like a bruise. “Gone,” I said. No softness. No lie. “For now.” A murmur rippled through them—despair trying to stand up. Tanya’s hand clenched the blanket. “So that’s it? We’re stuck.” “No.” The word tore out rough. “We’re alive.” The hacked-hair young woman dug into her pocket and pulled out folded fabric, wrapped tight like she’d protected it through hell. She held it toward me without meeting my eyes. “Thought you’d need it.” I took it. Soft. Worn. A scarf. The smell hit first—cheap floral detergent, the kind that clung to a Queens apartment hallway. Human. Ordinary. It punched a hole through the court’s cold. “I do.” Two words. They scraped out. She shrugged like she hadn’t just handed me a lifeline. “You’re shaking.” I looked down. My hands trembled around the scarf in little violent shivers. The bracelet throbbed under Kevin’s wrap. I pressed the cloth to my knuckles and breathed in detergent and sweat and stubborn life. Not magic. Just a thing someone chose to share. Kevin leaned closer, voice for my ears only. “You don’t have to carry all of it.” A laugh snapped out of me, humorless. “Sure. I’ll just set it down and walk away.” His gaze held. “Not what I meant.” I looked back at the group. Javier watched like he waited for me to crack. Tanya watched like she waited for me to run. The hacked-hair girl watched like she wanted me to stay human. “I’m not asking you to trust the court,” I said louder. “I’m asking you to trust each other. Hands on shoulders. You don’t let go. You panic, you breathe. You think you’re gonna pass out, you tell me.” A few nodded—tiny motions. Not hope. Not forgiveness. Survival. The lantern’s small fire guttered, then steadied again. It lit the edges of the blanket, thin warmth stolen from a cage. A thud hit the hull. Then another. Footsteps on canvas. The airship shivered. Rafe moved to the hatch, blade in hand now, stance wide. He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. His body promised violence without flourish. “They are here.” Kevin’s mouth tightened. “How many?” “Enough.” I stood, tucking the scarf into my collar like armor. My knees wobbled once, then locked. “Listen.” I met the captives’ eyes. “If they breach, you don’t run into the mist. You stay in the pocket. You run, you vanish.” Javier’s laugh turned ugly. “We’re already vanished.” “Not yet,” I said. “Not while I’m still counting you.” A board creaked overhead. Mist poured through a widening seam, cold and damp, making everything slick. A masked guard dropped into the hold, silent. Another followed. No weapons in their hands. That scared me more than blades. The first guard tilted their head toward me. Toward my wrist wrap. Toward the scarf. The briar-ink burn hidden under Kevin’s sleeve. They raised a hand, palm out. My bracelet heated in answer. “No.” I stepped in front of the captives. “You don’t get to point at me like that.” The hand lowered. A glamour thread slid from their sleeve—thin, shining—hovering like it could taste the air. It angled toward my wrist. Rafe’s blade lifted an inch. “She is under my charge.” The guard paused. Another stepped down behind them carrying something small, wrapped in dark cloth. Hope flared in my chest, stupid and bright. They tossed the bundle to the floor at my feet. It thumped. Not metal. Not heavy. I didn’t bend right away. I didn’t give them that. Kevin’s voice snapped behind me. “Sofi, don’t—” “I know.” I nudged the bundle open with my boot. Inside lay a broken length of chain. A shackle ring still attached. Message received. You tried to run. We broke the path. Javier made a strangled sound. Tanya’s hand flew to her mouth. The hacked-hair girl clutched the blanket like she could disappear into it. My mouth dried out. I lifted my chin anyway. “You took the key. Fine. But you don’t touch them. You want me? Take me.” Kevin grabbed my elbow, hard. “Sofi. Stop.” I didn’t look back. If I looked back, I’d see his face—and the risk there—and I’d hesitate. The glamour thread slid closer, slow and sure. Then a figure stepped into the hatch behind the guards. Taller. Stillness like a throne. The air changed—less mist, more cold order. Thorne Ashworth-Blackwood filled the doorway like night wearing a crown. His coat sat perfect despite the wreck. His eyes tracked my wrist wrap, the scarf at my throat, the blood smeared across my gloves. “Sofia Reyes.” Calm. Precise. “You have interfered beyond your allotment.” My hands curled at my sides. “You took it.” “The key returned to its lawful keeper.” He didn’t blink. “It was in my hands.” The word hands cracked on the way out. “It was in your custody,” he corrected, as if the distinction were mercy. “Custody is not possession.” Kevin stepped beside me, chin up, shaking. “That’s convenient. Like everything you do.” Thorne’s attention slid to him, measuring. “Kevin Nguyen. You remain unclaimed. I advise you to keep it that way.” Kevin let out one sharp laugh, then swallowed it. “Yeah. Thanks for the tip.” Rafe stayed planted, blade up. He didn’t advance. Respect and threat sat braided in his stance. Thorne’s focus returned to me. “Your reflexes proved… predictable.” The bus-crash ghost pressed at the edge of my mind—seconds gone, floor tilting, helplessness like a hand at the back of my neck. He’d found the bruise and pressed it. “You set that up,” I said. “The bleeding courtier. You shoved him into me.” “He required aid. You provided it.” His tone stayed even. “Henceforth, the court will understand the nature of your function.” A murmur rippled through the captives behind me. Function. Tool. Instrument. The word didn’t need to be spoken twice. Javier stepped forward, voice shaking. “So she’s working for you.” “I’m working for them.” I spun on him, words coming out hot. “I bled for you. I stayed for you. I lost the key because I tried to shield it with my body.” “And your body listened to them anyway.” Fear made his eyes too bright. “So what’s the difference?” The question landed under my ribs and stuck. I forced my hands open at my sides. No fists. No threat. Just skin and blood and the truth I could afford. “You’re right to be angry.” The words tasted like metal. “I misjudged them. I won’t misjudge you. If you split from this group, you die. If you turn on me right now, you die.” I held his gaze until my eyes burned. “I can live with you hating me,” I added, quieter. “I can’t live with you dead.” Silence. Heavy. Javier’s jaw worked. His gaze dropped to my blood-smeared gloves, then to the scarf at my throat, then to the wrap on my wrist. Tanya swallowed. “You didn’t run.” My throat locked. I nodded once. Thorne watched the exchange like it mattered more than the wrecked ship. His eyes sharpened. “You have chosen leadership.” A faint tilt of his head. “That is… inconvenient.” “Not your choice.” Anger steadied my voice. “Where are the other humans? The ones you’ve taken. Where’s the list?” “You ask for what you cannot carry.” “I’ll decide what I can carry.” A shadow shifted behind him, half in mist, half in hatchlight. Celia Castellano. Her smile slid toward me like silk over a blade. “Such conviction. Is it wrong of me to admire it?” “Stay out of this.” The bluntness surprised even me. Her eyes glittered. “Is that a request, or an order?” Kevin muttered, “Don’t play her game,” but his voice shook. Thorne lifted a hand. Celia stopped mid-breath, smile still in place, leashed without complaint. My bracelet pulsed once—not hot, not cold. A tug answered deep in my chest, sudden and sure, like a compass snapping to north. My breath hitched. The pull didn’t point toward the hatch. It pointed inward. Deeper into the Briar Court. Thorne watched my reaction, and for the first time his control showed a hairline fracture—calculation shifting. “You are marked,” he said quietly. “More than you understand.” “You did that.” “I did not place the mark.” His diction stayed surgical. “You accepted it when you chose interference. The court recognizes you now.” The pull tightened, insistently, as if the stolen key had left a hook behind. “Where did it go?” I demanded. His gaze dropped to my wrapped wrist. “Where it must. Provided that you comply.” “With what?” My voice rose. “With being your instrument?” He didn’t blink. “With the law that keeps this realm intact. With the bargain that keeps the borders from collapsing. With the trial path I have offered you since the moment you arrived.” The airship gave another long, suffering groan. Mist thickened, wetting my lashes until my eyelids stuck. Behind me, the captives huddled closer under the blanket. Kevin’s shoulder brushed mine again. A brief contact. A brief spike of forbidden warmth. Rafe’s voice cut in, flat. “We cannot hold this wreck. Orders.” Thorne’s attention shifted to him. “Secure them. Bring Sofia Reyes.” Javier made a noise—half protest, half fear. Tanya grabbed his arm and held him back, eyes wide. I lifted my hands, palms out, before anyone could lay hands on me. “I’ll walk.” Kevin grabbed my sleeve. “Sofi—” I turned my head just enough to catch his eyes. “Stay with them.” His jaw tightened. “Like hell.” “You’re unclaimed.” I kept my voice low, because the crack in it felt like blood. “Use that. Don’t give them an excuse.” His fingers loosened, reluctant. His gaze flicked to the scarf at my throat. “You’re coming back.” Not a question. Not a promise. Faith, offered in a burning room. My throat tightened. I nodded once. “Yeah.” I faced the captives. Anger. Fear. And something else—thin, fragile, hidden. A strand of trust stretched between us, pulled tight. “I’m still getting you home,” I told them, voice carrying. “Not tonight. But I’m not done.” No cheers. No thanks. Just hands on shoulders, breath held and released the way I’d taught them. Thorne stepped aside, making space like a door opening. “Then come, Sofia Reyes.” His calm didn’t soften. “Let us test how long your resolve survives without its key.” I stepped toward him. The pull in my chest tightened, pointing deeper and deeper, like the key hadn’t been taken so much as it had chosen its next cage. Mist swallowed the hatch behind us. Horns sounded again, closer now, and the shadows gathered as if they’d been waiting for my name.