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The relic is here.

Somewhere past these shelves of hoarded ruin, somewhere beneath the gilded and cursed.

But now I can’t decide if I should touch it.

Because my father has already been here?—

Then this is no longer about breaking my curse.

This is about what he wants from me.

I will be damned if I give it to him.

Naira pauses ahead of me, her fingers moving fleetingly over a chest bound in dark iron, sigils carved into its surface, pulsing with an ugly, red glow.

"Is this it?" she asks.

Her voice is steady, but there’s something else beneath it.

She’s tense, full of anticipation.

She feels it now too.

Not the betrayal. Not the warning.

But the shift.

The way the space seems to still, as if waiting.

Like something is watching.

I move closer, slow, deliberate, forcing my body to obey despite the way my spine threatens to crack open beneath my father’s spellwork.

The sigils on the chest pulse in recognition.

My blood. It was keyed to me.

That confirms everything.

This was never meant to be stolen.

It was destined to be found.

By me.

By only me.

The curse in my veins writhes, the mark my father burned into my flesh igniting beneath my ribs, a silent whisper of got you, boy.

He wanted me to come here. He planned for me to take this.

To take it.

To make the mistake of thinking I could ever hold power that wasn’t his first.

Naira shifts at my side, her stance subtly changing, the barest flicker of awareness tightening her muscles.

She doesn’t know what’s wrong. But she knows me well enough now to see when something is.