Chapter 9 · The Wrong Kind of Truth

"Stop it! Just shut the hell up and look at me!"

Mara lunged, grabbing the entity by the collar of that oversized linen shirt. It looked like Eli. It smelled like Eli—old parchment and dried ink. But the eyes were wrong. No softness. No anxiety. Just gold-rimmed voids swallowing the dim light of the bell tower.

"I'm not playing games with a piece of magic paper," Mara hissed, her knuckles white as she shook him. "Tell me where he is. Where's my real brother?"

The entity didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. A slow, cruel smile curled his lips.

"Real? Mara, honey, I'm the only version of him that matters now. I'm the part of him that knew how to survive. The part you always tried to protect."

"Get away from her."

Riven's voice sounded hollow. He was standing a few feet back, hand hovering near his blade, but his posture was off. He wasn't the arrogant enforcer who'd pinned Mara against a wall three days ago. He looked like a man waking from a nightmare and forgetting which room he was in.

Mara glanced back, heart hammering. "Riven, help me get the truth out of this thing!"

"What truth?"