Violet’s heart pounded violently in her chest as she stood beneath her aunt’s projection. She hadn’t seen that expression in a long time had hoped she never would again.

  Maerith’s face itself was calm. No frown. No visible anger. Just a blank, composed stillness.

  But her eyes

  Her eyes carried intent straight into the soul. They always had.

  Violet remembered being nine years old, hiding behind a pillar while a narcissistic prince—drunk on arrogance—had tried to corner Maerith. He’d wanted her power, her influence. When charm failed, he had threatened.

  In front of Violet.

  She had watched her aunt’s eyes shift then watched bloodthirst radiate so purely that the royal stumbled backward, tripped over his own robes, and fled the room. He never returned.

  That same weight lived in her gaze now.

  Not bloodthirst.

  But anger.

  Cold and focused.

  It sent goosebumps across Violet’s skin.

  Silence lingered after Maerith’s first words. Astrid stood quietly to the side, knowing nothing she said would soften what was coming.

  “I snuck into the Hall an—”

  “You know?” Maerith cut her off smoothly. “I don’t want to hear it. Come home. Immediately.”

  Violet stared at her aunt’s face, thoughts racing.

  “No,” Maerith added after a breath. “Better yet, I’ll come get you both. Even if I have to use the space arrays.”

  Astrid’s breath caught.

  A space array? Those consumed fortunes to construct and even more to activate. For her aunt to suggest using one

  This was beyond serious.

  Violet moved instantly.

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  She pulled out the space destabilizer and anti-tracker she had used earlier.

  “Vi!”

  “Violet!”

  Both Maerith and Astrid shouted at once.

  “What are you doing?” Astrid demanded.

  Violet didn’t answer. She kept her eyes locked on her aunt’s projection.

  There were tears in them.

  But also resolve.

  “The Scrolls of Kosmas,” she began, voice tight but steady. “Writing structure. Parchment composition. Year 290 of the First Epoch. You discovered them.”

  Maerith said nothing.

  “Only three relic sites from that period were ever confirmed. And it was you who verified that only three existed. Everything I know about them, I learned from you.”

  Astrid felt her stomach drop.

  She understood now.

  “You know what was in those scrolls,” Violet continued, her voice trembling but coherent. “You know exactly what they contained.”

  Silence.

  “Why?” Violet demanded. “Why didn’t you cure her? Why didn’t you cure Astrid?”

  The last words broke, sharp and strained.

  From the moment she had seen those scrolls—recognized the script, the materials, the dating—she had begun asking this question. It hadn’t mattered that the documents were now in the hands of traitors plotting lèse-majesté.

  What mattered was this:

  Her aunt had uncovered that knowledge a year ago.

  And Astrid was still suffering.

  Astrid’s breathing turned ragged, uneven.

  Maerith only released a quiet sigh.

  “Indeed, I did,” she said at last. “But things are not that simple, child. Let me come get you, and we can discuss this properly at home.”

  “No!” Violet snapped. “You’ll tell me now.”

  “Violet. Do not be childish.”

  “Childish?!” Violet’s voice broke. “Astrid is being eaten alive from the inside out! She lives off measured aether doses. Some days she can barely walk. Her body is constantly failing her. You had the chance to stop all of this—and you didn’t!”

  Her hands trembled.

  “How am I supposed to react to that? ‘Not that simple’? You’re Maerith Zephyrine. When has anything ever been beyond you? I’ve thought about this over and over. Tried to make excuses for you. Tried to imagine what could have stopped you. None of them were good enough.”

  Her voice dropped, but it was no less fierce.

  “So tell me why. Why didn’t you cure Astrid?”

  Her breath hitched.

  “Are we even your nieces?”

  “You go too far, child,” Maerith replied, her tone sharpening for the first time.

  “Then tell me!” Violet screamed.

  The force of it drained her. She stood there, chest heaving, having poured everything into the accusation.

  For a moment, only the forest answered—wind through leaves, insects shifting in the undergrowth.

  Maerith’s expression softened, though the weight in her gaze remained.

  “Some things, Elowee, are difficult to both explain and understand,” she said quietly. “Just know this—I have done everything in my power to keep you and Astrid safe. It is all I have done. It is all I will ever do. So please… let me bring you home. Let me make sure you are safe.”

  Silence followed.

  Violet stared at the projection, her thoughts a storm behind still eyes.

  “No,” she said finally. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Aunt. I just don’t trust that you plan to help me cure Astrid.”

  “And why would you think that, Violet? I—”

  “Because you’ve promised me everything,” Violet cut in softly, “except that.”

  Maerith fell silent.

  “That’s all I want,” Violet continued. “And if you try to stop me…”

  Her jaw tightened.

  “Even you, Aunt… would be my enemy.”