Chapter 7 · Witness to the Dead

The wall laughed.

Not loudly. Silas Morn had never needed volume to command a room. His laughter slid through the stone in thin, polished threads, touching the vault’s iron shelves and making every sealed contract tremble in its drawer.

Noa pressed one hand against the wound beneath her ribs. Blood had soaked through her shirt and cooled beneath her coat. The city had forgotten her less than a minute ago. She could still feel the absence of it—a hollow where her body should have been, a terrible weightlessness in the world’s attention. Evelyn’s blood-mark had dragged her back.

Barely.

The black stone on the floor pulsed again.

“Noa Vey,” it whispered.

The sound struck behind her eyes. For half a heartbeat, the vault vanished. She saw a girl running through rain. A red ribbon. A hand locked around hers.

Then the vision snapped shut.

Noa staggered. Evelyn caught her by the elbow, though the movement pulled a sharp breath from her. The authority mark she had torn from her uniform was still fused to her palm.