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“How should I know? I’m human military, not Fae politics!”

“But Graves has contacts. Moles in the courts. Information networks.”

Davis’s face goes carefully blank. I increase the truth compulsion, watching him struggle against magical pressure that penetrates cell barriers to make deception impossible.

“Tell me about the moles.”

“Graves inherited the operation from his predecessor,” he gasps out, blood now flowing freely from his nose. “Network of court sympathizers providing intelligence for forty years. Most think they’re working toward peaceful coexistence.”

“Most of them?”

“Some know the real plan. Complete severance of human and Fae realms, with humans maintaining technological supremacy while Fae power diminishes to myth.”

“And tonight’s trial?”

“Someone inside will feed questions designed to expose her emotional vulnerabilities. Force her to admit feelings that can be used against her later. Maybe trigger magical backlash that damages her bonds permanently.”

Dread spreads through my bones like poison. “Who?”

“I don’t know. Graves compartmentalizes information.”

I believe him, which makes everything worse. Someone in tonight’s tribunal has been compromised, and I have no way to identify them.

“There’s something else,” Davis says quietly, and I catch the weight of a secret he’s been carrying through the emotional resonance readings. “Something about her placement with the Morgans. Her adoption wasn’t random.”

I lean forward, multiple devices flaring as I tear into his deepest memories through the barrier. “Explain.”

The memory that emerges through the viewing array makes my vision blur:

A younger Graves: “The girl’s protected by divine arrangement. Ancient debt between The Morrigan and Artemis herself. We intercepted the placement, but the protection remains active until she reaches maturity.”

“Divine protection?”

“Artemis chose the Morgan family specifically—military connections to guide her into our preferred career path. We’ve been planning this for twenty-five years, boy. Don’t fuck it up.”

“Divine protection,” I breathe, understanding crashing over me like an avalanche.

“Graves didn’t just steal a child from the Fae,” Davis whispers. “He stole her from the gods themselves. Artemis placed her with a military family to prepare her for some future purpose, and Graves intercepted that purpose for his own ends.”

But I’m not done. There’s one more secret burning in his mind, and this one will destroy everything I thought I knew about my own life.

“Your parents,” Davis says, reading the direction of my magical probing through the device sensors. “You want to know about your parents.”

“My parents died as Seelie Court martyrs. Executed for refusing to betray court secrets.”

Davis’s laugh carries no humor. “Your parents weren’t martyrs, Professor. They were the foundation of everything you’re fighting against.”

The memory rips from his consciousness through the viewing device like a physical wound:

Graves’s father, forty years ago, shaking hands with two elegant Seelie Fae: “The intelligence you’ve provided will change everything. My son will inherit this operation, and when he does, these arrangements will continue.”

The female Fae—my mother—nods gracefully: “Our son doesn’t know our true allegiance. When the time comes to pass the operation to your heir, eliminate us. He’ll serve better thinking we died as martyrs than knowing we died as traitors.”

My father, cold and calculating: “Agreed. Better he hate you than question us.”

The memory device shatters in its housing as my magic explodes outward, stone walls cracking under the force of revelation.

“No,” I whisper, but the memory burns with the kind of truth I’ve trained myself to recognize. “This can’t be accurate. The records I’ve preserved about them...”