The knock had weight.

  Not the soft courtesy of palace staff.

  Not the careful tap of a servant who didn’t want to be noticed.

  This was official.

  A sound made by people who believed the hallway belonged to them.

  Vaeloria didn’t rise.

  She didn’t need to.

  Her gaze stayed on the door like it was a piece on her board that had moved without permission.

  Lenora stood anyway.

  Not fast.

  Not dramatic.

  Just enough to put her body between Derpy and whatever came next.

  Lewd’s hand hovered near her own book half instinct, half refusal.

  Amy’s jaw was set.

  Lyn shifted one step to the side, already mapping angles, exits, and the distance to Vaeloria’s throat if this turned into a coup.

  Derpy—Sinister Derpy—watched them all with that wrong smile.

  Like he was entertained by their teamwork.

  The door opened.

  Two War Office escorts entered first.

  Not soldiers.

  Not guards.

  They wore the kind of uniform that said paperwork can kill you faster than steel.

  Behind them came a clerk with a sealed case and a face that had learned to be blank for a living.

  He bowed to Vaeloria.

  Not deep.

  Not respectful.

  Just enough to claim he’d done it.

  “Your Majesty,” the clerk said.

  Vaeloria’s voice was smooth as polished stone.

  “You’re late,” she replied.

  The clerk didn’t blink.

  “Transfer confirmation,” he said.

  He opened the case and withdrew a writ—thick parchment, layered seals, rune-ink that shimmered like it was still wet.

  Lyn’s eyes narrowed.

  Amy leaned forward a fraction, reading without asking permission.

  Lenora didn’t move.

  Lewd’s ears twitched.

  Sinister Derpy’s bracelets warmed.

  Warning.

  And something else.

  Interest.

  The clerk held the writ out.

  “By order of the War Council,” he said, “and under the authority of Arcane Munitions Command—”

  Vaeloria cut him off.

  “Do not speak that title in my sitting room like it’s a prayer,” she said.

  The clerk’s mouth tightened.

  He continued anyway.

  “—the subject is to be transferred for secure containment and evaluation. Site Black.”

  The words landed.

  Even Amy flinched.

  Lyn’s hand drifted closer to the doorframe, as if she could brace the room against the name.

  Lenora’s gaze sharpened.

  Lewd’s breath went shallow.

  Sinister Derpy smiled.

  Wrong.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Ah,” he said softly. “There it is again.”

  Vaeloria didn’t look at Derpy.

  She looked at the writ.

  Then at the clerk.

  “And you believe you can enforce this?” she asked.

  The clerk’s chin lifted.

  “We are authorized,” he said.

  Lenora’s voice was calm.

  “Authorized by who?”

  The clerk’s eyes flicked to her like she was an inconvenience.

  “The War Council,” he repeated.

  Lewd took a step forward.

  “You can’t just—”

  Sinister Derpy raised a hand.

  Not to silence her.

  To stop her from being the first one to bleed.

  Lewd froze, jaw tight.

  Sinister Derpy’s voice stayed polite.

  “I’ll go,” he said.

  The room snapped still.

  Vaeloria’s eyes cut to him.

  Lenora’s posture changed—subtle, protective.

  Amy’s expression sharpened.

  Lyn’s gaze turned calculating.

  Lewd’s voice came out rough.

  “Derpy—”

  Sinister Derpy’s wrong smile widened.

  “Not Derpy,” he corrected gently.

  Then—like he was doing them a kindness—he added:

  “I won’t hurt you.”

  The clerk exhaled, relieved.

  Vaeloria didn’t.

  Lenora didn’t.

  Lewd didn’t.

  Because the sentence had a second half that hadn’t been spoken.

  Sinister Derpy leaned forward slightly.

  “You can take me,” he said.

  “But you’ll take me awake.”

  The clerk’s eyes narrowed.

  “Sedation is standard,” he said.

  Sinister Derpy’s bracelets warmed.

  His voice stayed calm.

  “Then you should have brought more than paper,” he replied.

  The escorts shifted.

  Hands moved toward restraints.

  Toward runed cuffs.

  Toward the kind of tools designed for a monster.

  Lenora’s hand lifted—half warning, half command.

  “Don’t,” she said.

  The clerk hesitated.

  He didn’t listen.

  He nodded once.

  The escorts moved.

  And Sinister Derpy sighed.

  Not tired.

  Disappointed.

  “See?” he murmured, almost to himself. “He tried to be peaceful.”

  Then he looked up.

  At the ceiling.

  At the walls.

  At the invisible ward-lines that made Vaeloria’s palace hers.

  His bracelets pulsed.

  Once.

  The lights died.

  Not flickered.

  Not dimmed.

  Died.

  Rune-lamps along the corridor outside went black in a chain reaction, like someone had snapped a spine.

  The wards didn’t shatter.

  They stopped answering.

  The air changed.

  A pressure shift.

  A sudden, sick awareness that the room was no longer held together by the palace.

  It was held together by whoever was standing in the dark and smiling wrong.

  Amy sucked in a breath.

  Lyn’s hand went to the wall, feeling for the ward-thread that should have been there.

  Nothing.

  Vaeloria’s voice went colder.

  “What did you do?”

  Sinister Derpy’s answer was soft.

  “I turned off the leash,” he said.

  The escorts froze.

  One of them tried to activate a rune on his gauntlet.

  It sparked.

  Then went dead.

  Lewd’s eyes widened.

  Lenora didn’t move.

  But her tail went rigid.

  Sinister Derpy’s bracelets glowed faintly in the darkness.

  A warm halo.

  A warning sign.

  “I’m not hurting anyone,” he said.

  Then he tilted his head.

  “But I am done being moved like cargo.”

  Lewd stepped forward anyway.

  Her voice shook—not with fear.

  With fury.

  “You don’t get to do this,” she said.

  Sinister Derpy looked at her like she’d said something interesting.

  “Do what?” he asked.

  “Wear him,” Lewd snapped. “Talk like you’re him. Decide things like you’re him.”

  Sinister Derpy’s smile didn’t change.

  “That’s the part you don’t like?” he asked.

  Lewd’s hands clenched.

  “That’s not your call to make,” she said again, like repetition could become a spell.

  Sinister Derpy’s gaze softened.

  Almost kind.

  “This is my body just as much as it is his,” he said.

  Lewd flinched.

  Because it was true.

  And because truth didn’t make it safe.

  Sinister Derpy leaned back in his chair.

  “I promised him,” he said.

  “I promised I wouldn’t hurt you.”

  Lewd’s voice came out sharp.

  “And everyone else?”

  Sinister Derpy’s bracelets warmed.

  His smile flickered.

  Wrong.

  “I didn’t promise that,” he said.

  Vaeloria rose.

  Slow.

  Controlled.

  A queen standing in the dark like the dark had been invited.

  Her voice carried.

  “War Office,” she said.

  The clerk stiffened.

  “You will not take him,” Vaeloria continued, “from my palace under your terms.”

  The clerk’s mouth tightened.

  “Your Majesty—”

  Vaeloria cut him off.

  “You came here with paper,” she said.

  “You came here assuming the word ‘monster’ would do your work for you.”

  Her gaze slid to Sinister Derpy.

  Just once.

  A measured glance.

  Then back to the clerk.

  “He is under my protection,” Vaeloria said.

  “And if you try to drag him through my halls, you will be the ones who start the story you claim you’re preventing.”

  The clerk’s eyes flicked to the escorts.

  They were pale.

  Not afraid of Vaeloria.

  Afraid of the fact their tools weren’t answering.

  Lyn’s voice cut in—quiet, lethal.

  “Write down that you were denied,” she said.

  “Make it neat. Make it official. So when the War Council asks why you failed, you can point at the ink and pretend it was always your plan.”

  Amy exhaled through her nose.

  Vaeloria didn’t smile.

  The clerk swallowed.

  He bowed again.

  Deeper this time.

  A concession.

  Not respect.

  “We will report,” he said.

  Vaeloria’s reply was smooth.

  “Do,” she said.

  The escorts backed out.

  The clerk followed.

  The door shut.

  The darkness remained.

  Sinister Derpy’s bracelets pulsed once.

  The rune-lamps didn’t return.

  He left them off.

  Like a reminder.

  For a moment, no one spoke.

  Lenora’s gaze stayed on Sinister Derpy.

  Lewd’s breathing was tight.

  Amy looked like she wanted to argue with reality until it apologized.

  Lyn’s eyes were distant, already calculating what the War Office would do next.

  Vaeloria’s voice was quiet.

  “You can’t do that again,” she said.

  Sinister Derpy’s wrong smile returned.

  “I can,” he replied.

  Vaeloria’s eyes sharpened.

  “And you won’t,” she said.

  Sinister Derpy tilted his head.

  “I promised not to hurt them,” he said.

  He nodded toward Lenora and Lewd.

  Toward Amy and Lyn.

  Toward Vaeloria.

  “But I didn’t promise to be obedient.”

  His bracelets warmed.

  And somewhere far away—so far it felt like a different world—something answered.

  Not a voice.

  A tug.

  A pull.

  A thread going taut.

  Mk1 felt it first.

  A sudden tightness behind the eyes.

  A wrongness in the air.

  Mk2 froze mid-step, head snapping toward the palace like a compass finding north.

  Mk3’s hands trembled.

  Mk4’s pupils narrowed to slits.

  They all turned at once.

  Not because they were ordered.

  Because the strings had changed.

  Because something that had been slack was now pulled tight.

  Across the city, across stone, across wards and distance, the dolls began to move.

  Fast.

  Frantic.

  Searching.

  And then the seam opened.

  Not in Vaeloria’s room.

  Not where anyone could stop it.

  Somewhere else.

  A place where thread was thin.

  Reality folded like cloth.

  Riven stepped through.

  Her eyes were locked on the direction the pull was coming from.

  Her voice was low.

  Not angry.

  Certain.

  “Derpy,” she said.

  And the dolls surged toward her like she was the only command they’d ever wanted.

  Riven didn’t look back.

  She led the charge