Night did not loosen its grip on Noctyra. Instead, it pressed closer instead. Kara sat on the edge of the narrow bed Donald had given her—an old chamber buried deep within the estate, far below the windows and towers. The walls were etched with protective sigils layered so densely they seemed to hum. Somewhere above them, the city whispered and shifted, unaware that dawn had been promised a reckoning.
She couldn't stop thinking about that one word.
Tested.
She flexed her hands. The faint warmth still lingered beneath her skin, steady now, like something awake but patient. The door opened without a sound. Donald stepped inside, carrying a small tray—water, dark bread, a vial of something clear that caught the torchlight.
"You should eat," he said.
"Will it help me survive?" she asked.
"Surviving," he replied, setting the tray down, "often depends on very small things."
She picked at the bread, more to keep her hands busy than from hunger. "If I fail tomorrow…"
He didn't answer immediately.
"That chamber," she continued, "you've seen it."
"Yes."
"And people don't survive it."
"No."
Kara let out a quiet breath. "You're very good at encouragement."
Donald leaned against the stone wall opposite her. In the low light, the sharp edges of him seemed softer—older, tired in a way power couldn't hide.
"The sun-binding chamber was designed to destroy lies," he said. "Not bodies."
"That's comforting," she said dryly.
"It should be," he replied. "Because lies burn fastest."
She looked up at him then. "What if I'm not what they think I am?"
"Then you'll burn," he said honestly. "And the Concord will pretend relief."
Her grip tightened on the bread. "You really know how to make a girl feel special."
This time, he smiled—but it didn't reach his eyes.
"You are special," he said. "Which is why Blackvein won't wait for the verdict."
Kara stiffened. "You think he'll attack during the trial."
"I think he'll attack because of it," Donald corrected. "House Blackvein thrives in disorder. If the Concord fractures, Morgan will be ready."
"And if I survive?"
Donald pushed away from the wall and stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"Then the balance of power shifts overnight."
She studied his face. "Toward you?"
"Toward whoever controls you," he said.
Kara stood.
The movement surprised them both.
"I'm not something to be controlled," she said quietly.
Donald searched her expression, then nodded once. "Good. Neither was the Sunborn."
He reached into his coat and withdrew a thin band of metal—dull gold, etched with symbols similar to those in the basin.
"This will help you focus," he said, holding it out. "It won't save you. But... it may help you listen."
She hesitated. "Listen to what?"
"To yourself," he said. "And to whatever answered you."
She slid the band onto her wrist. The moment it touched her skin, warmth surged—not wild, not explosive. Centered.
Kara sucked in a breath. "Donald…"
"I know," he said. "That's why I kept it hidden."
"Why are you helping me?" she asked.
He thought for a while. "Because it's necessary."
A distant sound echoed through the stone. Footsteps. Many of them as if sentinels were matching to war.
Donald's head snapped up. "They're moving early."
Kara's heart began to race. "Is that normal?"
"No."
The walls shuddered faintly, as though the estate itself had drawn a breath. From somewhere far above, a horn sounded—low, mournful.
Donald cursed softly. "Blackvein."
He grabbed her cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders with quick, efficient movements.
"If anything happens," he said, "stay behind me."
"And if the light comes?" she asked.
His hands stilled.
"Then," he said quietly, "stand your ground."
Another horn call echoed—closer now. Kara felt it. Not fear, but anticipation. The warmth inside her stirred, rising, as though aware that something ancient was about to be asked of it. She met Donald's gaze.
"Whatever I am," she said, "I won't run."
His eyes darkened with something unreadable.
"Then dawn should be afraid of you."
Far above them, beyond stone and shadow, the veiled sky began to pale. The sun was rising.