Chapter 22 · The Price of a Ghost

"Don't move. Not one inch, Rowan."

Mara’s blade didn't just point at me. The tip was vibrating, a millimeter from my throat. Her eyes were wide, shimmering with a mix of raw terror and a betrayal so deep it felt like a physical weight. Behind her, the red eye of the Archive pulsed, casting a bloody glow over the glass.

"Mara, I don't know what that screen means," I said. My voice sounded thin. I kept my hands up, palms open. "Original Maker? I can't even remember what I had for breakfast three returns ago. How could I have built this hell?"

"Shut up!" she snapped. She stepped in. The edge of the blade nicked my skin. A single drop of blood beaded up.

"You’ve been playing the victim. The confused fugitive. The guy who just wants to save the city," she hissed. "But you wrote the code. You designed the loops!"

Her breath was on my face—sharp, jagged. She was shaking. Not from fear, but from a rage that had been simmering since the day we met.