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The gray crystal pulsed in Toria's palm and Mark's knees hit the rooftop.
Ella froze three steps onto the tile. The otherworlder was kneeling. The broker woman stood over him with something glowing between her fingers. Blood on the shingles. Mark's hand pressed to his temple like his skull might crack open.
"Step back." Ella's voice came out steadier than her grip on the consecration rod. "Now."
Toria didn't even look up. She tipped the crystal and light bled into a glass vial no bigger than Ella's thumb. The glow settled. Went still. Toria corked it and pocketed the thing in one smooth motion.
"Too late, temple girl." Toria's smile was all teeth. "Deal's done."
Mark pushed himself up. His face was pale. Sweat down his temple. He blinked at Ella like he didn't quite recognize her for a second. Then his mouth twitched.
"Hey." His voice rasped. "Funny seeing you here."
"What did you do to him?" Ella stepped forward. The rod's tip glowed faint white. Not much. She'd only done two years of consecration training and most of that was theory. But Toria didn't need to know that.
Toria raised both hands, slow and mocking. "Relax. He's fine. We had a transaction. He wanted out. I needed stock. Everyone's happy."
"Stock?" Ella's stomach dropped. "You took his—"
"One memory." Toria's grin widened. "Small one. He won't even miss it."
Mark laughed. It sounded wrong. Thin. He braced a hand on the roof beam and hauled himself to his feet. "She's right. I'm good. Totally good."
"What memory?" Ella didn't lower the rod.
Mark opened his mouth. Closed it. His brow furrowed. He looked at Toria. Back at Ella. "I don't—" He stopped. Swallowed. "Huh."
"See?" Toria brushed dust off her sleeves. "Clean extraction. No spillover. He doesn't even know what he lost. That's craftsmanship."
Ella's chest went tight. She'd read about memory extraction in the restricted archive. Smugglers used it on prisoners before selling them across the border. The Conclave banned it sixty years ago. You didn't just lose the memory. You lost the space it used to fill. Some people never noticed. Others spent years trying to remember what they'd forgotten.
"Mark." Ella kept her voice level. "Do you remember signing the divorce papers?"
"Yeah." He nodded. "Coffee shop. She shoved the pen at me. I signed."
"What did she say?"
Mark's face went blank. His mouth opened. Nothing came out. He looked down at his hands. Back up. "She said—" He stopped. Tried again. "I don't—"
Ella saw the exact moment he realized. His expression cracked. Not panic. Worse. The kind of look someone got when they reached for something that should've been there and found empty air.
"Oh." His voice was flat. "Well. That's gone."
Toria checked her nails. "You agreed. Don't get sentimental now."
"What did she take?" Ella's knuckles were white around the rod.
"His ex-wife's last words at the signing." Toria shrugged. "He picked it himself. Said it didn't matter. Guess he was wrong."
Mark barked a laugh. It sounded like glass breaking. "No, she's right. It's fine. Julie probably said something about the house or the dog. I don't need it." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I don't need any of it."
Ella stared at him. He was smiling. It didn't reach his eyes. She'd seen that look before. On her mother's face the night before the temple guards came. The night before they dragged her to the pyre for reading a banned text.
People smiled like that when they'd already given up.
"You're coming back with me." Ella stepped forward. "Right now."
"Pass." Mark's smile stayed fixed. "I'm good here."
"They're going to kill you."
"They're going to kill me there." He gestured vaguely toward the temple district. "At least here I get to pick what I lose first."
Toria leaned against the roof beam and pulled out a cigarette. She didn't light it. Just rolled it between her fingers. "Smart man. Temple's got a disposal order on you. I saw the writ myself. Signed by the High Priestess. You walk back there, you're dead by morning."
Ella's throat closed. "That's not—"
"It's true." Toria's eyes were flat. Cold. "I used to work imperial archives. I know what an execution seal looks like. Your people want him gone so they can try the summoning again. He's a failed product. Cheaper to scrap him than figure out what went wrong."
Mark looked at Ella. Really looked. "Is that true?"
Ella wanted to say no. Wanted to tell him the temple protected the innocent. That the prophecy was sacred. That they wouldn't just kill someone because the summoning didn't match expectations.
But she'd seen her mother burn. She'd heard the High Priestess call it mercy.
"I don't know." Her voice cracked. "I don't know what they'll do."
Mark nodded slowly. "Yeah. That's what I thought."
Footsteps on the roof tiles. Fast. Heavy.
Ella spun. Veran stepped up through the attic hatch. His blade was already drawn. Moonlight ran down the edge. He looked at Toria. At Mark. At Ella.
"Step away from him, initiate."
Ella didn't move. "Veran, wait—"
"That's an order." His voice was flat. Executor voice. The one that didn't leave room for argument. "The High Priestess wants him back. Now."
Toria straightened. Her hand went to her belt. Ella saw the glint of a knife hilt. Mark just stood there. He looked tired. Like he'd been expecting this.
"I'm not letting you kill him." Ella's voice shook. The rod's glow brightened. Not much. Barely enough to cast shadows. But it was something.
Veran's jaw tightened. "I'm not here to kill him."
That stopped everyone. Toria's hand froze. Mark blinked. Ella stared.
"What?"
Veran lowered his blade. Not sheathed. Just down. Tip toward the roof. His eyes stayed on Mark. "Orders changed an hour ago. High Priestess sent a runner. You're to be brought back alive."
Mark laughed. It sounded half-hysterical. "Oh good. That's so much better."
"Why?" Ella's mind raced. Alive meant they wanted something. Information. Testimony. Or—
Veran's expression was stone. "They want to try a second summoning. Same anchor. The mages think if they use you as the original vessel, they can correct the age variable and pull the right hero through."
The words landed like a hammer. Mark went very still. "Use me as the—what does that mean?"
Veran met his eyes. "It means they're going to burn you alive on the summoning platform and try again while your soul's still tethered."
Silence. Just the wind over the rooftops. Somewhere below, a dog barked.
Mark's face went blank. Then he smiled. Wide. Manic. "Well. Guess I should've kept that memory after all. Would've been nice to remember what Julie said before I get fucking incinerated for a do-over."
Ella couldn't breathe. Her hands shook. The rod's light flickered.
Toria crushed her unlit cigarette and dropped it. "That's new information." She looked at Mark. "I can get you out of the city. But my price just went up."
Veran's blade lifted. "No one's going anywhere."
"Try me, temple dog." Toria's knife was out now. Short. Curved. The kind that opened arteries before you felt the cut.
Ella stepped between them. Her heart slammed against her ribs. This was it. The choice. Drag Mark back and watch them burn him. Or break her vows and help him run.
She looked at Mark. He was watching her. Not afraid. Just waiting. Like he'd already made peace with whatever she decided.
She thought of her mother. Of the pyre. Of the way the High Priestess had smiled and called it holy.
Ella turned to Veran. "What if the prophecy didn't fail? What if we just read it wrong?"