Chapter 13 · The Disposal List

Wantang's hands went numb. The ink was still fresh. Dawn, Day 14. She could smell it—sharp, metallic, recent. Tomorrow. They were planning to kill him tomorrow.

"How long until dawn?" Her voice came out flat. Professional. The negotiator mask snapping back into place because the alternative was screaming.

Rowan checked the narrow window. The city lights outside were still bright, but the sky had that blue-black weight that meant deep night. "Ten hours. Maybe eleven."

Ten hours to dismantle a royal purge. She'd negotiated hostage releases with less time. But those had all been domestic disputes, workplace grudges, people who still wanted a way out. This was the crown. You didn't negotiate with the crown. You ran, or you burned.

"We leave tonight." She said it like it was simple. Like they could just walk out of the Ash Court's front door and vanish into the capital streets. "You have contacts in the outer districts, right? Someone who can hide you until—"

"Until what?" Rowan's face was pale under the lamplight. "Until the trial? They'll execute you the moment I'm gone. The contract says if I don't present myself for substitute testimony, you burn at dawn instead."

Right.