Chapter 10 · The Royal Anchor

"Don't touch the door."

Rafe caught my wrist before my fingers reached the blackstone seal.

His grip hurt. His body pressed against my back, heat leaking through my coat. His breath brushed my neck.

I looked down at his hand. "Take it off."

"You saw the execution mark."

"I saw a door."

"You saw a door with two blood locks and a Directorate seal. Those aren't the same thing."

I twisted against him. He held on.

The archive entrance sat beneath the Blackstone Throne, half-hidden behind the torn courtroom floor. The black vein below had stopped pulsing, but it still breathed under the stone. Every few seconds, a dull thud rolled up through my boots.

The order I needed was three steps away, locked inside a glass case bolted to the wall.

The original judgment order.

Not the copy the Directorate had shown the court. Not the forged version that called me a traitor and gave them permission to carve out my Shadow Core.

The original would carry the signer's blood mark.

It could prove Marek changed the order after my arrest.

It could put a rope around his throat.

Rafe leaned closer. "Tell me what you're planning."

"No."

"Helen."