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He went still, and I could almost see him rifling through years of memories. Finally, he shook his head. "No."

"Have you ever questioned the fertility of the Isle?" I pressed. "How not long after the rebellion, things started to change? For years, more miraculous occurrences after the last."

Something shifted in his expression then.

"I'm almost positive the King is a siphon."

"Why?"

"Where I just came from, where I was taken to that night in Emeraal—it's being drained." The words tumbled out faster now. "There is mass devastation, families suffering, land rotting—no food for the people."

"The people?" His eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Yes. They aren't Wraiths, Laryk. They're just like us." I stepped closer, willing him to understand. "The shadows are just a way to hide and protect themselves. All this time, they've thoughtdestroying the arcanite was the answer, but it's not. None of this will end until the siphon stops."

"I knew I saw a figure," he muttered, almost to himself. He began pacing, running a hand through his copper hair.

"They're not some monsters filtering in from another world. They have lives, possessions, land. Children."

He stopped abruptly. "So you believe the King is pulling essence from their realm and depositing it into Sídhe?"

"It's not happening all at once. It's being done systematically—over the last decade at least." I watched his face carefully. "He's storing the essence in the arcanite and distributing it to Sídhe."

Laryk's hand moved down his face, dragging his sharp features in frustration. "I don't understand."

"I know it's a lot?—"

"Why did they take you?" His voice hardened, emerald eyes flashing. "What do you have to do with any of this?" Anger blazed across his features. "They took you away from me."

"You saw what I did that night." I met his gaze steadily. "You hesitated," I added quietly, looking away.

Suddenly he was there, gripping my shoulders, scanning my face with new intensity. "I only hesitated because I thought I saw something—someone—through the darkness. A figure beside you." Desperation bled into his voice. "You have no idea how I've played that moment over and over in my mind—the regret that I feel. I should have run to you, should have fought through all of it to get to you."

"Don't feel sorry." I stared at the floor. "If you had tried to intervene, we wouldn't know anything that we know now. We'd still be clueless to what's really happening—the atrocities our King is committing."

He paused, and I could feel him searching my face for answers.

"They took me..." I swallowed hard. "Because I'm one of them."

Laryk stared at me for a long moment before reaching up to tuck a strand white of hair behind my ear. "I don't care."

"We have to do something, Laryk. We don't have much time until the entire realm dies."

"They've killed us by the hundreds," Laryk nearly growled, eyes digging into mine.

"What would you have done, if you were them?" I asked, nearly begging him to understand—to grasp the weight of what was occurring.

He stilled, eyes strained as he shook his head. "This is a lot of information."

I leaned against his desk and sighed. "I know," I whispered. "But it's true."

"How can you be sure?" he asked, coming to stand beside me, never removing his gaze from my face.

"Because I've seen it. I've seen the devastation there." I tried to keep my voice from cracking but failed miserably. "This is the realm my father was from, Laryk. And it's all going to be dust soon. An entire half of me that I never knew until now."

He took my hand, fingers tracing over the Riftborne branding as a tear slipped down my face. "And your mother?" he asked.

"From Riftdremar. Both of my parents were killed because of greed—hisgreed. The King. I won't lose anything else to it." I turned towards him, my eyes burning.