Talia POV
The storm had quieted, but its memory lingered in the stones.
Rain bled down the tall windows of the council chamber, tracing silver veins through the candlelight. The air smelled of wet ash and old magic. Talia stood at the long table where Roland’s pouch lay open, its contents scattered—worn letters, brittle seals, and ink faded by time. They looked like bones waiting to be named.
She had read enough to know one thing.
None of this had been accidental.
The doors opened without announcement.
Amalia entered, her leather duster heavy with rain, boots tracking water across the flagstones. She didn’t look surprised to find Talia there—only tired.
“You’ve read them,” Amalia said.
Not a question.
“Enough,” Talia replied quietly, “to know we’ve been living inside someone else’
