The return to Valdrence should have felt like safety.

  It didn’t.

  The iron gates of the outer wall boomed shut behind us, the sound final and absolute. We stood in the transitional courtyard—no longer in the Rot, not yet back in the Tower’s sterile embrace. Just… between. The grey stone beneath our boots, the bruised sky overhead, the taste of ozone still sharp on our tongues.

  Elara counted heads. “Everyone accounted for. Joran, Mira, Rook—report to Floor Four for debrief. Juniors, medical screening on Floor Five. Now.”

  We filed toward the inner gate in silence. Around us, the city of Valdrence continued its oblivious routine. Smoke rose from chimneys. Distant bells marked the hour. People walked streets that had never seen the Rot, had never felt the ground pulse with that deep, resonant heartbeat.

  They had no idea what was out there. Or what we’d brought back.

  Tavin walked beside me, his steps unsteady. The knife had stabilized him, but the cost was written on his face—skin waxen, eyes sunken, a tremor in his hands that wouldn’t stop. He caught me looking and tried to smile. It came out more like a grimace.

  “I’m fine,” he whispered.

  He wasn’t. We both knew it.

  Seren walked ahead, silent as always, but her posture was different. Straighter. As if the Rot had filled some hollow place inside her rather than emptied her out. Caius kept touching his chest, his disc, as if checking to make sure it was still there, still dull grey and not blazing green. Gawain was… Gawain. Blank. Present but absent.

  As we passed through the inner gate and into the Tower’s shadow, the oppressive weight I’d felt outside lifted. The sterile white walls, the constant hum, the filtered air—it should have been a relief.

  Instead, it felt like a cage closing.

  Floor Five smelled of antiseptic and something bitter I couldn’t identify. The Medical Wing was a series of small, white rooms connected by a corridor that curved with the Tower’s perimeter. Hollows in grey tunics moved between them, escorted by Wardens in white robes.

  We were separated immediately. A Warden gestured me toward Room 7.

  Inside was a chair—more restraint than furniture—and a trolley of instruments that gleamed under the shadowless lights. A Warden I didn’t recognize stood waiting, his face obscured by a cloth mask, his eyes magnified by thick lenses.

  “Sit.”

  I sat.

  He worked in silence. Drew blood from my arm—three vials, each darker than the last, as if the Taint I’d absorbed had stained it. Placed cold metal discs on my temples and chest. They hummed, glowed pale blue, and I felt a strange pulling sensation, like something was trying to look inside me.

  “Saturation level,” he muttered to an assistant who scribbled on a slate. “Twenty-four percent. Integration rate: exceptional. Psychic resonance: elevated. Markers for…” He paused, leaning closer to his instruments. “Concordance. Sympathy. Communion.”

  He straightened, removing the discs. “During field absorption, did you experience visual phenomena? Auditory hallucinations? Sense of external presence?”

  I kept my voice flat. “Pressure. Warmth. Nothing clear.”

  “Describe the warmth.”

  “Like… heat. From the Taint entering.”

  “Not comfort? Not familiarity?”

  “No, sir.”

  He made a note. The scratch of his stylus on slate felt like an accusation.

  “Your biometrics indicate parasympathetic response during high-saturation events. Your body registers Taint absorption as pleasurable. This is… atypical.”

  He set down the slate and leaned over me, those magnified eyes studying my face like I was a specimen pinned to a board.

  “You’re lying. Your blood doesn’t lie. Neither does your heartbeat. You enjoy it. Just like Aldric did.”

  I said nothing.

  He straightened. “You’ll be placed on enhanced monitoring. Weekly evaluations instead of monthly. Any deviation from baseline and you’ll be flagged for remedial conditioning.” He paused. “Oh, and High Sage Korr has requested your presence. Immediately upon clearance.”

  My stomach dropped. “Why?”

  “He didn’t specify.” The Warden pulled off his mask, revealing a thin, colorless face. “But if I were you, I’d be very careful what you say to him. He has a particular interest in… exceptional cases.”

  He gestured to the door. “You’re cleared. Floor Four, Room of Inquiry. A Warden is waiting to escort you.”

  The Warden waiting outside was young, maybe mid-twenties, with the kind of face that had forgotten how to smile. He didn’t speak, just gestured for me to follow.

  We climbed the spiral stairs to Floor Four. I’d only been here once, during the mission briefing. It felt like a lifetime ago.

  The corridors here were different. Darker wood instead of white stone. Bronze plaques on doors: DISPATCH. CARTOGRAPHY. RECORDS. And at the end of the hall, double doors of heavy oak with silver inlay: CHAMBER OF INQUIRY.

  The Warden knocked once, opened the door, and stepped aside.

  “High Sage Korr is expecting you.”

  I stepped through. The door closed behind me with a soft, final click.

  The Chamber of Inquiry was not what I expected.

  It wasn’t a sterile interrogation room. It was a study—almost comfortable, if you ignored the fact that there was no other exit. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with leather-bound volumes and rolled maps. A desk of dark wood dominated the space, its surface covered in papers, a brass compass, and a single lit candle despite the shadowless overhead lights.

  And standing at the window, hands clasped behind his back, was High Sage Marius Korr.

  He didn’t turn as I entered. Just stood there, looking out over Valdrence. From this height, the city spread below like a map—orderly, contained, safe. And in the distance, barely visible through the grey haze, the outer wall. Beyond that, the Rot.

  “Hollow 2147,” Korr said, his voice smooth as polished glass. “Or should I say Kieran? Son of Gareth. Grandson of Aldric.”

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  I said nothing.

  He finally turned. Those winter-salt eyes, pale and cold, fixed on me with the precision of a scalpel finding a vein.

  “Please. Sit.”

  There was only one chair—directly across from his desk. I sat.

  Korr moved to his desk, settling into his own chair with the easy authority of a man who’d spent decades in this room, asking questions, extracting truths. He picked up a piece of parchment—Elara’s field report, I assumed—and read it in silence for a long moment.

  Then he set it down and steepled his fingers.

  “Warden Elara’s report is… illuminating. You performed admirably in the field. Absorbed with exceptional efficiency. Showed initiative during a crisis.” He paused. “And you brought an undeclared tool. A siphon blade of unusual design.”

  He extended his hand. “I’d like to see it.”

  I hesitated.

  “That wasn’t a request.”

  I reached down, pulled the knife from its sheath at my calf, and placed it on the desk between us.

  Korr picked it up, turning it slowly in the candlelight. The iridescent patterns in the metal swirled, still faintly glowing from the Taint it had absorbed from Tavin. His expression didn’t change, but I saw his grip tighten almost imperceptibly.

  “Remarkable craftsmanship,” he murmured. “The metal… I’ve only seen work like this once before.” His eyes lifted to mine. “Aldric’s tools. Before we confiscated and destroyed them.”

  He set the knife down, but kept his hand on it. Possessive.

  “Tell me. Where did your father acquire the knowledge to create this?”

  “He made it. Family techniques.”

  “Family techniques.” Korr’s smile was thin, humorless. “How convenient. And what, exactly, did Gareth tell you this blade does?”

  “It… helps. Absorbs overflow. Eases the burden.”

  “Eases the burden,” Korr repeated softly. He stood, walking around the desk to stand directly in front of me. Close enough that I could smell the peppermint on his breath, sharp and medicinal.

  “Do you know what your grandfather believed? He believed the Taint was not corruption. That it was information. Stored memories, compressed consciousness, a library written in darkness.” He leaned down, his face inches from mine. “He believed that tools like this didn’t just absorb Taint. They communicated with it. Translated it. Made it… comprehensible.”

  He straightened, returning to his desk.

  “Of course, that belief is what made him dangerous. What made him Unbound.” He picked up the knife again, examining it. “And yet here you are. Carrying his tools. Absorbing with his ease. Showing his talent.”

  He looked at me.

  “Tell me, Kieran. During the field mission, when you absorbed from the pool—what did you see?”

  My mouth went dry.

  “I didn’t—”

  “Liar.” The word was soft but absolute. “Elara noted that you were in contact with a Grade 4 vent for thirty seconds. That should have killed you. Or driven you mad. Yet you walked away more stable than before. What. Did. You. See?”

  I made a choice.

  “Colors. Pressure. Nothing clear. It was too much, too fast.”

  Korr watched me. Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen.

  Then he smiled.

  “You’re better at lying than your grandfather. He couldn’t help himself—always had to share his revelations, convince others, play the teacher.” He set the knife down, slid it across the desk toward me. “But you. You know when to keep silent.”

  I didn’t move to take it.

  “The knife is not illegal,” Korr continued, sitting back in his chair. “Siphon tools exist. We use them ourselves for emergency containment, for research. But this…” He tapped the blade. “This shouldn’t be possible. The metal, the patterns, the efficiency—your father shouldn’t know how to create this. Which means Aldric taught him before his… disappearance. Which means your father has been sitting on forbidden knowledge for years.”

  He let that hang in the air.

  “Where is Gareth now, Kieran? Still at his forge?”

  “Yes, sir. As far as I know.”

  “As far as you know.” Korr pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment, dipped a quill in ink. “When did you last receive correspondence from home?”

  “Two weeks ago. A letter from my sister.”

  “And your father? Does he write?”

  “No, sir. Uncle Finn mentions him sometimes.”

  “Uncle Finn. Gareth’s brother.” Korr made a note. “And what does Finn say about Gareth’s… state of mind?”

  “That he works late. Doesn’t talk much.”

  “Doesn’t talk much.” Another note. “Concerning. A man with forbidden knowledge, grieving the loss of his son to the Sanctum, growing withdrawn…” He looked up. “That’s a risk profile, Kieran. You understand that?”

  Cold certainty settled in my gut. “You think my father is dangerous.”

  “I think your father knows things he shouldn’t. I think he passed those things to you, in the form of that blade. And I think if we don’t monitor him carefully, he might follow his father’s path.”

  Korr set down his quill.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen. You will continue your training. You will use that knife if necessary—I’m not a fool, it clearly saved 2146’s life, and functional tools should be employed. But you will report to me personally. Weekly. You will tell me everything unusual that occurs during absorption. Every vision, every voice, every moment of recognition.”

  He leaned forward.

  “And in return, I will ensure your father remains… unmolested. That he continues his work at the forge, unbothered by questions about where he learned what he knows. Do we have an understanding?”

  It wasn’t an offer. It was a leash.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” He smiled, and it almost looked genuine. “Your grandfather was brilliant, Kieran. Truly. He could have changed everything—advanced our understanding of the Taint, improved our methods, saved countless Hollows from fraying. But he couldn’t accept limits. Couldn’t accept that some knowledge is forbidden for a reason.”

  He stood, walked to the window again.

  “I was his friend, you know. Before the madness took him. I tried to save him. Tried to bring him back from the edge.” His voice softened, almost wistful. “I failed. He chose the Taint over reason. Over loyalty. Over me.”

  He turned back.

  “I won’t fail with you. You’re too valuable. Too talented. And unlike Aldric, you’re still young enough to be guided.”

  He gestured to the door.

  “You’re dismissed. Return to your dormitory. Rest. Training resumes tomorrow.” As I moved to leave, his voice stopped me. “Oh, and Kieran? If you receive any letters from home mentioning your father’s absence… bring them to me immediately. Before you share them with anyone else. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I picked up the knife, sheathed it, and walked to the door.

  As I reached for the handle, Korr spoke one more time.

  “Your grandfather used to say the Taint whispered his name. That it knew him. Called him.” A pause. “Does it call you, Kieran?”

  I looked back. “No, sir. It’s just pressure. Heat. Nothing more.”

  He nodded slowly. “Good. Keep it that way.”

  I left the Chamber of Inquiry with the knife heavy against my calf and Korr’s words heavier in my mind.

  If you receive any letters from home mentioning your father’s absence…

  Why would Father be absent?

  Unless Korr already knew something I didn’t.

  I descended the spiral stairs in a daze, barely registering the passing floors. When I reached Floor Nine, the dormitory level, I found Tavin waiting outside my door. He looked worse than before—pale, shaking, but his eyes were clear.

  “They held me in medical for two hours,” he said. “Tested everything. Asked about the knife.” He lowered his voice. “I didn’t tell them anything. Said I was too out of it to remember clearly.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me.” He looked at my door, then back at me. “Kieran, what’s happening? The Rot, the vent waking up, that figure in the light…” He swallowed. “What did you see in that pool? Before it all went wrong?”

  I thought of the vision. The village whole, then destroyed. The Wardens planting markers that drew the Taint instead of containing it. Aldric’s younger face, horror-struck, mouthing: They’re feeding it.

  “Nothing clear,” I lied. “Just pressure.”

  Tavin studied my face. He knew I was lying. But he didn’t push.

  “Okay,” he said softly. “Okay.”

  He turned to go, then stopped. “One more thing. During medical screening, I overheard two Wardens talking. They mentioned a ‘situation’ in the city. Something about the forge district. I couldn’t hear details, but…” He met my eyes. “I thought you should know.”

  My blood went cold. “The forge district. You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  He left me standing there, alone in the corridor, the white walls pressing in.

  The forge district.

  Where Father worked. Where Uncle Finn lived with Lira.

  I will ensure your father remains unmolested.

  Korr’s words. A promise. Or a threat?

  I opened my door, stepped into my cell, and closed it behind me. The small space felt even smaller now. I pulled out the locket, stared at the inscription.

  A. to G. — Remember.

  Aldric to Gareth. Remember.

  What had Grandfather told Father? What had Father tried to tell me?

  I lay on my narrow bed, the knife cold against my leg, the locket warm against my chest, and stared at the curved ceiling.

  Tomorrow, training would resume. The routine would continue. I would smile, absorb, obey.

  But tonight, in the dark, I made a decision.

  If Father was in danger—if Korr had done something—I would find out.

  And if the Wardens were feeding the Rot, if the whole system was built on a lie, if Aldric had been right all along…

  Then I would remember.

  No matter what it cost.

  From the cell next to mine, I heard Tavin’s voice through the wall, barely audible:

  “One, two, three, four…”

  Still counting. Still holding on.

  I closed my eyes and listened to the Tower’s hum, that constant vibration that never stopped, never rested.

  And beneath it, quieter but just as persistent, the warmth in my chest pulsed in rhythm.

  The Taint, patient and waiting.

  Whispering my name like a promise.

  Or a warning.