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"What is it?" she murmurs.

I keep my mouth shut, refusing to admit what’s going on. I grit my teeth.

There’s no way I will admit that I let my father lead me here like a fucking hound to the slaughter.

And that she used him to hook me.

My fingers curl at my sides, my nails digging into my palms, fighting the urge to rip this vault apart, to tear through every piece of magic laced into the walls.

I have been waiting years for this moment.

I have suffered through bone-breaking nights, through every full moon where my body turned against me, through decades of servitude to a man who never intended to let me go.

I thought I was close.

I thought I was smarter than him.

But no matter how many games I play, how many moves I make?—

Zeran Zacria is still winning.

Even when he isn’t here, he is. His shadow, presence and power is here.

His voice curls through the chamber, a whisper in my mind, something old and rotten and familiar.

"You never had a choice, boy."

The curse flares hot and violent, slamming into my ribs like a clawed hand reaching up from the grave.

I stagger back, barely catching myself on the shelf behind me, my vision going black at the edges, my breath catching on nothing.

Naira moves immediately, her fingers wrapping around my arm, yanking me forward before I can collapse like a weak, broken thing.

"Zephiran," she hisses, her grip so tight it bruises.

I can feel her fingernails sinking into my skin, sharp, grounding.

But I barely register her in my eyes. Barely hear her words.

My father’s magic is suffocating, coiling, claiming.

"You are mine."

I snarl against the voice, against the instinct to drop to my knees, to shatter all over again.

Not this time. Not ever.

I wrench myself free from Nairagrasp, sucking in a shuddering breath, locking my knees before they can betray me further.

Her expression is unreadable.

But her eyes?—

They are watching me too closely.

Too sharply.

She has always known I was hiding something.