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"You're going to take me to the archive."
Carson didn't look up from the blade he was cleaning. Blood still streaked the steel—beast blood, I hoped. "No."
"That wasn't a question."
"Still no." He dragged the cloth down the edge, slow and deliberate. "You want answers, ask the core. It seems real chatty where you're concerned."
I stepped closer. The control ring on my wrist pulsed once, a warning I ignored. "The core told the whole city I've got royal blood. You locked this thing on me. So either you take me to the archive and we figure out what that means, or I rip this ring off and let the next wave bury us both."
That got his attention. He set the blade down, stood, and crossed the space between us in two strides. Close enough I could see the thin white scar cutting through his left eyebrow. Close enough his voice dropped to something I felt in my chest.
"You don't rip that ring off. You don't get cute with the core. And you sure as hell don't threaten me with a suicide play." His hand came up, and I thought he'd grab my wrist. Instead his fingers stopped an inch from the ring, hovering. "This is the only thing keeping you from burning out. The core will drain you dry in six hours without it."
"Then take me to the archive," I said. "Or find out how long I'm willing to bet."
His jaw worked. For a second I thought he'd call it. Then he stepped back, snatched his coat off the chair, and jerked his head toward the door. "Ten minutes. You ask your questions, you get out, and you keep your mouth shut about what you see."
"Deal."
"Wasn't negotiating."
The archive sat three levels down, past two checkpoints and a steel door that looked like it belonged on a vault. Carson didn't say a word to the guards. Just showed them something on his palm—a mark that glowed faint blue—and they stepped aside.
Inside, the air tasted old. Dust and parchment and something metallic underneath, like the walls were bleeding rust. Rows of shelves stretched back into shadow, crammed with books, scrolls, loose sheaves tied with string. No system I could see. No labels.
"Where do we start?" I asked.
Carson moved past me, heading for a narrow alcove in the back. "We don't. I start. You stand there and don't touch anything."
"You're the one who wanted me to keep quiet."
"Yeah, and you're the one who can't stop pushing." He pulled a leather-bound volume off a shelf, flipped it open, scanned a page. Closed it. Grabbed another. His hands moved fast, efficient. Like he'd done this a hundred times.
I watched his shoulders, the way they stayed tight even when he was focused on the text. "You've been here before."
"Lots of times."
"Looking for what?"
He didn't answer. Just kept pulling books, checking spines, shoving them back. The silence stretched long enough I thought he'd ignore me completely. Then he said, "Proof."
"Of?"
"That the people running this city into the ground deserved what they got."
I stepped closer. Close enough to see the page he'd stopped on. A genealogy chart, names in angular script I didn't recognize. Except one. Voss. My name. And below it, a line that branched into three.
"Is that—"
His hand slammed the book shut. "Yeah."
"Let me see it."
"No."
I grabbed his wrist before he could pull the book away. His skin was warm under my palm, and for half a second neither of us moved. Then his other hand came up and caught my wrist—not rough, but firm enough I felt the control ring flare hot.
"Let go," he said.
"Show me the page."
"Evelyn." My name in his mouth sounded like a warning and something else I couldn't name. "You don't want to see this."
"You don't get to decide that."
His grip tightened. Not enough to hurt. Enough that I knew he could. "The last time someone with your bloodline sat in the core seat, she burned half the lower wards to feed a power spike. Three thousand people. Gone in one night. So yeah, I get to decide."
I yanked my wrist free. The ring burned, and I didn't care. "You think I'm her."
"I think you've got her blood." He shoved the book back on the shelf, too hard. Something clattered behind the row. "And I think that core just painted a target on your back the size of the whole damn city."
"Then help me figure out why it chose me."
"Because you're royal. That's the why. The core doesn't care if you're good or bad. Just if your blood lights up the right color."
I stepped in front of him, blocking his path to the door. "You said you were looking for proof. Proof they deserved it. Who's *they*?"
His eyes—gray, cold, the kind that didn't give anything away—locked on mine. "The king. The council. Everyone who knew what she did and covered it up."
"And you think I'm part of that."
"I think you're alive when you shouldn't be." He moved forward, and I should've stepped back. Should've let him pass. Instead I held my ground, and he stopped so close I could feel the heat coming off him. "The Voss line got wiped out seventeen years ago. Every royal, every heir, every kid who might've carried the blood. I watched the executions myself."
My throat went dry. "Then I'm not—"
"You are." His voice dropped, rough and low. "The core doesn't make mistakes. So either you're a ghost, or someone hid you real well."
"I don't remember any of it."
"Convenient."
Anger flared hot in my chest. I shoved him. He barely moved. "You want me to apologize for surviving? For not dying when someone decided my whole family should?"
"I want you to tell me the truth." He caught my wrists, both of them this time, and pulled me close enough our faces were inches apart. His breath was warm. His hands were steady. And his eyes were looking at me like I was a puzzle he couldn't solve. "Who are you really, Evelyn Voss?"
The air in the room shifted. A hum, low and vibrating, coming from everywhere and nowhere. The core.
A screen flickered into existence between us, translucent gold text hanging in the air.
**BLOODLINE QUERY ACCEPTED.** **LINEAGE: EVELYN VOSS, THIRD-BORN, HOUSE OF TIDES.** **MOTHER: CELESTE VOSS, QUEEN REGENT.** **STATUS: KINGBREAKER PROTOCOLS ACTIVE.**
Carson's grip on my wrists went slack. His face didn't change, but something behind his eyes did.
"Celeste," he said. Barely a whisper.
The screen pulsed.
**SECONDARY QUERY DETECTED.** **WOULD YOU LIKE TO VIEW EXECUTION RECORDS?**
"No," I said.
The screen ignored me. A new image loaded—grainy, like old surveillance footage. A woman on her knees, hands bound, dark hair falling across her face. A man standing behind her with a blade. The swing. The—
I looked away. My stomach heaved.
Carson was still staring at the screen. His jaw was tight. His hands had curled into fists.
"Turn it off," I said.
The screen didn't move.
"Turn it *off*!"
The image vanished. The screen flickered once and died.
Silence. The kind that pressed on your ears.
Carson spoke first. His voice was flat. Empty. "I was there."
I forced myself to look at him. "What?"
"The execution. I was there." He turned, finally, and his eyes were the coldest I'd ever seen them. "I held the crowd back while they killed her. Your mother."
My chest went tight. I couldn't breathe right. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you asked who I am." He took a step back. Then another. Putting distance between us like I was something poisonous. "I'm the man who made sure no one stopped it."
I should've been angry. Should've gone for his throat. Instead I just stood there, shaking, trying to fit the pieces together. "You said they deserved it. You said—"
"I said the king deserved it. I said the council deserved it." His hand went to his belt, where the blade sat in its sheath. Not drawing it. Just resting there. "I didn't say she did."
The floor felt unsteady under me. "Then why didn't you stop it?"
"Because I was seventeen and stupid and I believed what they told me." His voice cracked on the last word. Just a little. Just enough. "They said she was the one who burned the wards. They said she tried to kill the king. They said—" He stopped. Swallowed. "They lied."
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Tried again. "How do you know?"
He pulled something from his coat. A small blade, thin and sharp, the handle wrapped in red cord. He set it on the shelf between us. "Because five years later I found this in the king's private vault. It's the knife that cut the ward-core connections the night of the fire. His knife. His blood still on it."
I stared at the blade. My hands were numb.
"He framed her," Carson said. "Burned his own people to consolidate power. Blamed the queen. And I helped him kill her."
The room was too small. The air was too thin. I needed to sit down. Needed to scream. Needed—
A sound cut through the silence. A low, droning hum. Not the core this time. Something else.
Carson's head snapped up. "No."
The hum grew louder. The walls shook. Dust rained from the ceiling.
A screen bloomed into existence, red text burning across the air.
**WARNING: SECONDARY BREACH DETECTED.** **PORTAL ANCHOR ESTABLISHED—SECTOR UNKNOWN.** **SCANNING...**
The hum peaked. The air split.
A portal tore open above us—not in the archive, somewhere higher, outside, but close enough the core was screaming about it. Through the tear I could see sky. Dark clouds. And a figure standing at the edge, backlit by lightning.
A voice rolled through the portal. Male. Smooth. Familiar in a way that made my skin crawl.
"Six days, Evelyn."
I knew that voice.
Carson grabbed my arm. "Who the hell is that?"
The voice came again, closer now, like he was stepping through. "Six days. Then I take the crown back."
The archive door slammed open. Mira stood in the doorway, knife already drawn, eyes wild. "We've got movement on the east wall and something just opened a gate in the sky. Tell me you two know what that—"
She stopped. Stared at the portal. At the figure stepping through.
The man landed on the parapet outside, light and easy, like he'd done it a thousand times. Tall. Dark coat. A circlet of silver on his brow that glowed faint blue.
He smiled.
"Hello, darling," he said, and his eyes locked on mine through the walls, through the stone, like he could see straight into the archive. "Miss me?"