Chapter 11 · The Price of a Rewrite

“Step away from the anchor, Nora. Now.”

Valerius didn't shout. He didn't need to. His voice sliced through the archive’s hum like a razor. Ten feet away, four Inquisitors flanked him, their armor shimmering with dampening runes. Behind them, the soul-lantern flickered, trapping the terrified, dim silhouette of Nora’s brother.

Nora didn't budge. Her fingers were locked onto the second anchor—a jagged obsidian spire pulsing with a sickening violet light. The power wasn't just flowing through her; it was rewriting her. Every nerve felt like it was being stripped raw and replaced with live electricity.

“You’re not taking him,” Nora spat. She tried to jerk her hand back, but the anchor gripped her like a parasite. “And you’re not getting this.”

“Look at you.” Valerius took a slow, predatory step forward. “You can barely stand. Your magic is eating you alive because you’re too stupid to steer it. Give me the anchor, and I might actually let your brother keep his mind when I sell him to the brokers.”

Kane stepped in. His shoulder brushed hers, his body heat the only thing keeping her from freezing in the archive’s chill. He didn't look at Valerius.