Chapter 12 · The Throne Calls Their Names

"Don't touch the seal, Helen."

Rafe caught my wrist just as my blood hit the blackstone groove.

His fingers locked around me. Warm. Hard. Too close.

Behind us, the archive doors shook under another impact.

"Then stop holding me like I'm the problem," I snapped.

"You're standing in the middle of a throne that eats royal blood."

"And you're standing between me and the proof that can destroy the Directorate. Move."

Rafe's jaw tightened. His thumb pressed over the pulse the blood-pact had already claimed.

The throne groaned beneath us.

Not stone settling.

Something awake.

Rafe yanked me against his chest and shoved us sideways. A silver bolt punched into the wall where my head had been.

"Imperial troops!" Seren shouted from the doors. "At least twenty!"

Another blast hit. Dust poured from the ceiling. Shelves tipped, spilling sealed records across the floor.

We'd found the hidden archive five minutes ago. Shipping ledgers. Rebel payments. Marek Voss's private seal stamped on weapons crates bound for the ash frontier.

Enough to hang him.

Enough to put the Directorate on trial.

If I got out alive.

"The cylinder," I said.

Rafe glanced toward the open vault behind the throne.