For a moment, no one moved.
Not Ivan.
Not the doctor.
Not Mila.
Not even the machines humming beside Anya’s now still, empty body.
Only Sasha moved—trembling, clinging to Demetri as her breath hitched in desperate, uneven pulls.
Demetri stared at the slip of paper in Ivan’s hand.
THE HEIR IS MARKED.
The letters looked carved, not written.
Pressed into the page with anger or glee—or both.
Nora watched Demetri’s face as the meaning sank in.
Not shock.
Not confusion.
But something cold and sharp and murderous settling behind his eyes.
“Where,” Demetri said softly, dangerously, “is Liliana now?”
Ivan swallowed hard.
“We don’t know. The cameras caught her leaving through the west breach. After that, nothing.”
Demetri closed his eyes.
Just once.
When he opened them, the man st
