Chapter 9 · The Memory Trade

"Don't touch the glass, Mara. Seriously, don't."

Cael’s hand clamped around my wrist. Tight. Hard enough to bruise. He yanked me back just as my fingertips brushed the shimmering obsidian pillar. The air in the Inner Sanctum tasted like ozone and old blood. Thick. Choking.

"Get off me!" I snapped, twisting my arm away.

I couldn't look at him. I was staring at the thing in the center of the room. A holographic projection of a man in high-collared white silk. Royal Guard. He looked exactly like the man from my nightmares. The man who'd told me to come home.

"Who is that?" My voice shook. "Cael, who the hell is that?"

Cael didn't answer. He stepped between me and the projection, shoulders tense, blocking my view. "Someone who should've stayed dead. This place... it's not an archive, Mara. It's a mirror. A dangerous one."

"I don't care if it's a damn funhouse!" I shoved him aside, lunging toward the pillar. The projection shifted. The man's eyes followed me with chilling, synthetic precision. "He knows me. He called my name. How does a dead recording know my name?"

"It's not a recording," Cael muttered. Low. Warning. "It's a Memory Echo.