Chapter 13 · The Price of a Ghost

"Don't touch it, Mara. Step back."

Cael's hand clamped around my wrist. Hard. He wasn't asking; he was bruising me.

I jerked back, fighting for the flickering screen. "I'm not stepping back! I'm the one labeled a traitor in this file, Cael. I'm the one who allegedly burned the Lower District. I'm not leaving until I see the rest."

"You don't understand how the archives work," he snapped.

He stepped in, blocking the console. His chest nearly brushed mine. I could smell ozone and old paper clinging to his coat, a scent that felt like a warning. "This isn't a PDF. It's a mnemonic lock. To unlock the next layer, the system needs a payment."

"A payment? What, credits?"

Cael looked at me. His eyes were dark, heavy. "Not credits. A memory. A real one. Something the reset engine hasn't already chewed up."

I froze. "You're kidding."

"I wish I were," he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous vibration. "The system takes a piece of you to give you a piece of the truth. One memory for one file. That's the trade."

I stared at the screen. *Mara Voss: Royal Traitor*. The words mocked me.