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Her trust that I would never sacrifice innocents for her sake.

“She would rather wait,” I say quietly, the words tasting like revelation. “My sister, who believes in impossible solutions—she’d rather remain captive than know I’d betrayed everything she thinks I am.”

“How noble. And how utterly irrelevant.” His voice drops to something intimate and cruel, the tone he used while teaching me exactly how much pain a person could survive. “Because she won’t know, will she? She’ll simply know that her freedom came at the appointed time, through your faithful service. She need never learn the cost.”

“I’ll know.”

“And you’ll live with it. As you’ve lived with so many other necessary compromises.”

For the first time in my life, I watch something that might be uncertainty splinter through my father’s features like ice under pressure. But then his smile returns—colder, more dangerous than before.

“You know, my son, I’ve been thinking about your sister lately. About how eager she is to share her research with fellow scholars. How trusting she’s become in her tower sanctuary.”

My spine turns to permafrost, every nerve ending firing warnings that taste like copper and desperation. “Don’t.”

“Twenty years of faithful service, and freedom was so close. Mere weeks away.” He circles me like a predator who’s found new prey, shadows following his movement in patterns that claim the space as his territory. “But perhaps... circumstances have changed. Perhaps I need more time to properly appreciate your dedication.”

“The contract?—”

“Can be renegotiated.” His eyes hold winter storms and calculated cruelty that makes my blood crystallize in my veins. “After all, if you’re willing to defy me for one woman... what guarantee do I have of your loyalty once Kestra walks free?”

Frost spreads across the floor in violent, jagged patterns as rage and terror war in my chest. Twenty years. Twenty years of believing I was counting down to her freedom, to the moment when I could tell her the truth about what I’d sacrificed.

“You would extend her captivity to control me.”

“I would ensure my investment remains... profitable.” He settles back into his chair like a king holding court over my destroyed hopes. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer to sign that letter and remove all doubt about where your loyalties lie.”

He rises, moving toward the door with the satisfaction of someone who’s just delivered a killing blow. But at the threshold, he pauses.

“Four hours until the trial begins, my son. Four hours to decide whether your heart belongs to a changeling who may not survive the night... or to a sister whose freedom depends entirely on your continued cooperation.”

The archive door closes behind him with whisper-soft finality, leaving me alone with an unsigned letter and the taste of my own powerlessness.

When the silence falls, I look down at the renunciation.

My father wants me to sign it. Wants me desperate and dependent and grateful for whatever scraps of happiness he allows us.

But what if she doesn’t want me to save her?

What if she wants me to trust her to save herself?

The letter sits between my fingers like a choice I’m not ready to make, parchment crackling with frost that spells out uncertainty in patterns I can’t read.

Through whatever fragile bond connects us, Ash’s heart beats steady and strong, carrying determination that feels less like acceptance and more like...

War.

And suddenly, I understand something that changes everything.

Kestra taught me to look for third options. To find solutions that didn’t require choosing between impossible alternatives. She always said the most elegant answers came from reframing the question itself.

What if this isn’t about choosing between Ash and Kestra?

What if it’s about trusting both of them to be stronger than my father’s manipulations?

The unsigned letter sits between my fingers, but I’m no longer seeing renunciation.

I’m seeing strategy.