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"Did you really think I wouldn’t notice, boy?"

The pain hits me like a fist to my insides.

I snarl, forcing myself upright, hands clenched into the stone, trying to fight against the invisible blocks pressing against me.

The curse burns through my veins, every nerve igniting in sick, relentless waves.

Naira whirls toward me, eyes sharp, hands already moving to grab me.

But she can’t help me. No one can.

My father has me exactly where he wants me.

The shadows shift, tightening their hold, pressing into my ribs, my throat, my mind.

"I gave you power, Zephiran."

His voice curls into my skull, threading through my bones, the sound of something ancient, something cruel.

"And now you think you can take it away?"

A choked, ragged breath drags through my lungs, my body fighting itself, muscles locking beneath the unseen weight.

I try to shove up on my arms, but they don’t fucking move.

My father is in me.

His magic, his control—woven so deeply into my being that I feel his amusement as clearly as I feel my own pain.

He isn’t even here but it doesn’t matter.

Nairavoice cuts through the haze.

"Zephiran."

A warning. A demand. A plea.

I force my head up.

She’s watching me. Her dagger is still clutched in one hand, but her fingers tremble.

She sees it now.

The real me.

Sees the way my body is failing, breaking, bending beneath an invisible force that I cannot fight.

Her gaze flicks over me, fast, assessing, calculating. And then she lunges.

Not at me.

At the relic.

The moment her fingers clamp around it, the magic shifts.

The weight loosens, just slightly.

Enough for me to suck in a breath. It’s enough for me to push against the hold.