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Marcus pulled out a small leather case from his desk drawer. The kind doctors used. Evira's stomach dropped.
"Need to confirm the bloodline," he said. Not asking. "If you're Kara's kid, your blood will show markers. Specific ones."
She was still standing by the door. Her hand hadn't left the handle. "You want my blood."
"Just a few drops." He unzipped the case. Vials. Needles. A small blade that caught the lamplight. "Won't take long."
Evira's jaw tightened. She'd bled plenty in the past two days. The rift in the warehouse. The binding test. Her knuckles when she'd punched the alley wall after the ransom call. None of it on purpose. None of it while some guy watched.
"How do I know you won't—" She stopped. Wasn't sure how to finish. Won't sell it? Won't use it? Won't prove I'm something Vivian Ash wants?
Marcus looked up. His face was unreadable in that way that made her want to punch it. "You don't."
Great. Honest bastard.
He set the case on the desk and stepped back. Gestured at it. "You do it. I'll stay over here."
That surprised her. She didn't move.
"I'm not trying to scare you, Kern." His voice was flat. Tired, maybe. "I need the sample. You need me to not report you. We both need Vivian to think you're just another rookie who got lucky."
Her throat was dry. "And if my blood says I'm... whatever you think I am?"
"Then we have proof. And leverage." He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Vivian's been looking for summoner bloodlines for years. Anyone she finds disappears into her 'research division.' If I can prove you're Kara's daughter, I can trace what happened to her. And I can keep Vivian's hands off you. Maybe."
Maybe. The word hung there like smoke.
Evira finally let go of the door. Walked to the desk. The leather case was old but clean. The vials had labels in tight handwriting. The blade was small. Sterile packet still sealed.
"You've done this before," she said.
Marcus didn't answer.
She picked up the blade. Her hands didn't shake. That was something. She'd bound wounds in the field during training. This was just another cut. Just another test.
Except it wasn't.
She glanced at Marcus. He was still against the wall. Watching. His eyes were the same cold gray they'd been in the warehouse. She hated that she couldn't read him. Hated that she had to trust him anyway.
"Turn around," she said.
His eyebrows went up a fraction. "It's your hand. Not—"
"Turn around."
For a second she thought he'd argue. Then he did. Just turned and faced the wall.
Her chest loosened a little. Stupid, maybe. He could still hear her. Still knew what she was doing. But not seeing his face helped.
She tore open the sterile packet. The blade was sharp. Clean. She pressed the tip against the pad of her left index finger. Hesitated.
What if he was right? What if her blood did something weird? What if it opened another rift right here in his office?
What if Felix died because she was too scared to find out?
She pressed down. The sting was quick. Blood welled up, dark and red. Normal. She tilted her hand over one of the vials. Let three drops fall. They hit the glass with tiny wet sounds.
Nothing happened. No glow. No rip in the air. Just blood.
She capped the vial and set it on the desk. Grabbed a cotton pad from the case and pressed it to her finger. The cut was small. It'd stop in a minute.
"Done," she said.
Marcus turned back around. His gaze went to the vial first. Then to her. She was still holding the cotton pad to her finger. Still standing too close to his desk.
"Good," he said. Stepped forward and picked up the vial. Held it up to the light. Tilted it. The blood moved slow. Viscous. He frowned.
"What?" Evira's pulse kicked up again.
"It's... denser than it should be." He set the vial down. Pulled a small scanner from the case. The kind that read DNA markers. Expensive tech. Guild-issue, probably. "This'll take a few minutes."
He loaded the vial into the scanner and powered it on. A blue light started cycling. Evira watched it spin. Her finger throbbed under the cotton.
"Why'd you turn around?" The question came out before she could stop it.
Marcus glanced at her. "You asked."
"Most guys wouldn't."
"I'm not most guys." He said it without ego. Just fact. Then, quieter, "Kara hated being watched when she was patching herself up. Said it made her feel like a lab rat."
Evira's breath caught. "You knew her that well?"
"We were partners for six years." His jaw tightened. "Yeah. I knew her."
The scanner beeped. Marcus looked down. His expression changed. Not much. Just a flicker. But she saw it.
"What?" she said again.
"Markers are there." He turned the scanner screen toward her. It was full of data she didn't understand. Chains of letters. Percentages. Red highlights. "You're a primary-line carrier. Rare variant. Less than one in ten thousand."
Her stomach flipped. "Meaning?"
"Meaning Kara was your mother. Or your grandmother. The bloodline doesn't skip." He looked at her. Really looked at her. "And meaning Vivian will do anything to get you."
The room felt smaller. Evira stepped back. Her shoulders hit the edge of a bookshelf.
"I can't—" Her voice cracked. She swallowed and tried again. "I can't deal with this right now. Felix is—"
"I know." Marcus's voice was still flat. But something in it had softened. Just slightly. "We'll get him out. I told you. You help me, I help you."
"And then what? Vivian just... leaves me alone?"
"No." He was honest again. She hated it. "But if we move fast, we can make you too visible to disappear. Public hunter. Guild-certified. She can't vanish someone the whole organization's watching."
"She's a higher-up. She *is* the organization."
"Part of it. Not all of it." Marcus closed the scanner and put it back in the case. "There are people above her. People who don't want a war between bloodlines and normies. If we play this right, you become untouchable."
If. The word was doing a lot of work.
Marcus zipped the case shut. Then he paused. His hand rested on the leather. "Evira."
She froze.
He'd said her real name. Not Evan. Not Kern. *Evira.*
He didn't look at her. Just kept his eyes on the case. "That's your name, right? Not the fake ID."
Her throat was tight. "How did you—"
"Kara had a daughter. Born in the year you would've been. Records were sealed, but I found the hospital log." He finally looked up. "Evira Vex. Mother: Kara Vex. Father: unknown."
The room tilted. Evira grabbed the bookshelf to steady herself.
"I'm not—" She couldn't finish. Couldn't breathe.
Marcus stood. Walked past her to a locked filing cabinet in the corner. Pulled a key from his pocket. Opened the bottom drawer. Took out a folder. Old. Worn. The edges were frayed.
He opened it on the desk. Inside was a photo. Not the one from before. This one was different.
It was a woman. Maybe fifty. Maybe older. She was standing in front of a chain-link fence. Behind her, a warehouse. Graffiti on the walls. The photo was grainy. Dated. But the woman's face was clear.
Evira's face.
Thirty years older. Same eyes. Same sharp jaw. Same scar—no, not the same. This scar was on the other side. Mirror image.
"That was taken six months ago," Marcus said. His voice was quiet. Careful. "In the industrial district. Near where you opened the rift."
Evira stared at the photo. Her pulse was in her ears. Her finger was still bleeding through the cotton pad. She didn't care.
"Kara Vex didn't die thirty years ago," Marcus said. "She's alive. And she's been in this city the whole time."