Chapter 7 · The Rookery

"You’re not leaving," Cael said, his voice like a low vibration against my spine.

He didn't just close the door; he sealed it. A wall of black fire flickered across the threshold, turning the heavy oak into a shimmering, impassable barrier. I jerked back, my boots scuffing the dusty floor of the clocktower.

"What the hell is this?" I demanded, my hand instinctively flying to where my blade usually sat. "We had a deal. You get me inside, I help you with the Crown. You don't get to lock me in a cage."

Cael turned slowly. The dim light of the Rookery played tricks on his face, casting deep shadows that made him look less like a man and more like something carved from a nightmare. He stepped closer, and the air around him felt heavy, charged with that same suffocating pressure that had hit me during the handshake.

"It’s not a cage, Mara. It’s a sanctuary. Or it would be, if you weren't currently vibrating like a tuning fork," he said. He stopped inches away. I could smell old parchment, cold rain, and something metallic—