Chapter 9 · The Name She Buried

The name hit her like cold water.

Evelyn Harrow.

She hadn't heard it out loud in six years. Not since the trial. Not since the executions. Not since she burned every document that proved she used to be that girl.

Silas was still smiling. The kind of smile that said he'd been holding this card for a while, waiting for the perfect moment to flip it. Around them, the ballroom had gone quiet. Not silent—people were still breathing, still holding their drinks—but the conversations had died. Everyone was looking at her.

Nolan's hand tightened on hers. She felt the heat of the bond flare under her ribs, a warning pulse that told her he was about to do something stupid.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Her voice came out steady. Good. That was good. "My name is Evelyn Morrow."

"Of course it is." Silas stepped closer, hands clasped behind his back like he was giving a lecture. "Morrow. A common name. Easy to slip into. Easy to hide behind." He tilted his head, eyes sharp. "But the registry doesn't lie, does it? Your mother was Celeste Harrow. Your father was Marcus Harrow.