Evidence bled for six hours.
Not metaphorically.
The Black Crest token inside Valeria's glass capsule pulsed every thirteen minutes and released one bead of dark red liquid that smelled like old iron, burnt paper, and dinner rooms where children learned silence.
Valeria called it debt-blood.
Niko called it "biologically offensive."
Seraphina called it "contaminated bloodline residue."
Veylan called it "proof."
I called it inconvenient because every time it pulsed, my right hand answered.
The Healing Hall evidence room had been converted into something between infirmary, archive, and siege bunker. The captured Black Crest assassin lay inside a layered containment bed under Seraphina's preservation light, Elara's root restraints, Veylan's red-ink custody seal, and Valeria's hostile witness clause. Aiden's cooperative light kept the erasure mark from eating his tongue. Niko's copper grounding nails lined the bedframe like a very nervous fence.
Nyx watched from the wall.
