The feast had ended, but the echoes remained.
Chion walked the obsidian corridors alone. Runelight lapped at the walls, catching in the silver of his eyes. The hour was too late for patrols, too late for wanderers.
Too quiet.
He didn't mind silence. He minded what silence let hide.
As he passed beneath the arched rune-gate to his quarters, he felt it. Not magic. Not danger.
A presence.
He slowed, then stopped. Turned his head, only slightly.
"Why are you here again, Violet?"
The shadows released her like smoke clearing.
She stepped forward, her usual spark absent. Her eyes were a midnight ocean—perfectly still, revealing nothing.
"You know me," she said. "Late-night strolls." A folded parchment appeared between her fingers, then vanished. "Care to indulge?"
His gaze swept the corridor once.
"The stone drinks whispers," he said quietly. He nodded toward his door. "Inside."
Her brow rose. He had never let her inside.
He didn't wait for an answer.
She followed, swallowing her surprise. The door shut behind them with a dull, final thud.
Her eyes moved through the chamber. A slight tightening. An almost imperceptible pause before composure reasserted itself.
Jet-black walls. A bookshelf. A single weapon rack. A rune-glass basin. No banners. No tapestries. No warmth.
"Charming," she said. "Do you always live like a prisoner, or is this a statement?"
He uncorked a small bottle and poured two cups without ceremony. Handed one to her.
"Get to the point."
She accepted the cup but didn't drink.
"The cost of tonight's display." Her gaze steadied. "If you're willing to hear it."
"And if I'm not?"
A test. Her fingers tightened around the cup.
"Then you'll die ignorant," she said. "Most likely before sunrise."
She stepped closer.
"The Council is done measuring from a silent distance. They want you dead. Or worse."
He took a single, unhurried sip. His expression didn't shift.
"And you're here to prevent that?"
"Partly." She turned the cup once in her fingers. "I have no interest in cleaning your mess. Only in pointing you toward where to start."
"Your reason?"
"Self-preservation," she said. "Partly a courtesy. Partly an investment."
He set his cup down with a soft clink. His eyes found hers and held.
"An investment." A pause. "Are you certain about that?"
Her gaze dipped. Rose.
"No," she admitted. "Not yet. Not until I decide what you are."
His brow twitched. Interest.
"Whether you're a weapon…" Her eyes held his. "…or a curse."
Silence stretched between them.
A faint smile touched his mouth. "And what would that change?"
She held his gaze. Said nothing.
"Nothing," she said at last.
Something shifted in his expression.
"Amusing." His voice was quiet. "Truly. But why?"
Her brow twitched.
"Why go so far?"
"You've heard the rumors. You've seen, personally, what I'm willing to do. My virtues don't align with yours. Neither do your loyalties."
His gaze hardened.
"So why commit yourself regardless of what I cost."
Something softened in her face.
"Belief. In the common ground between us."
He leaned into the word.
"We have no backers."
Chion's eyes narrowed, just slightly.
"We?"
The word landed cold between them. Final.
A shiver moved through her before she could suppress it.
"Whose 'we'?"
She opened her mouth to answer.
He cut through it first.
"You mistake me for either a fool…"
His voice remained calm.
"…or a dog grown obedient from feeding on your scraps."
She tried once more. The results unchanging.
"I hold no regard for you, not your words, not your aid, nor the pretense you parade around like a golden crown."