The stairs beyond the Archive door were narrower than the Tower’s main spirals, carved from rough-hewn stone that felt ancient and damp. No ivory here—just the raw bedrock the Tower was built upon. The air grew colder with each step, smelling of wet stone and ozone. The only light came from our discs, casting long, distorted shadows that danced like trapped spirits on the walls.

  Caius moved with a confidence that unnerved me. He’d clearly studied this route, memorized every turn, every count of steps. He held up a hand at intervals, listening. The only sounds were the drip of water somewhere in the darkness and the distant, rhythmic thrum of the Tower’s generators below.

  “Generatorium,” Caius whispered as we reached a landing. “The heart of the Tower’s power. And our way out.”

  He pushed open a heavy iron door that groaned in protest. Beyond lay a cavernous space, vast and echoing. Massive brass-and-copper engines lined the walls, pistons pumping with a rhythmic thump-thump-thump that vibrated through the metal grating underfoot. Pipes as thick as tree trunks snaked across the ceiling, hissing steam. The air was thick with heat and the smell of oil and scorched metal.

  And it was empty. No Wardens. No workers. Just the machines, toiling in the gloom.

  “Shift change,” Caius said, a hint of triumph in his voice. “Maintenance crew just left. Next doesn’t come for twenty minutes. That’s our window.”

  He led me along a catwalk high above the main floor, moving swiftly but silently. Below, I could see pools of glowing coolant, violet-tinged and swirling. The Taint in my chest stirred, reaching for that energy. I forced it down, focusing on Caius’s back, on putting one foot in front of the other.

  We reached a section of wall that looked no different from any other—riveted iron plates, stained with age. Caius ran his fingers along a seam, found a hidden catch, and pulled. A panel swung inward, revealing a dark tunnel barely wide enough to crawl through.

  “Conduit,” he said. “Old ventilation. Leads out beyond the outer wall. It’s tight, but it’s clear. I’ve had it checked.”

  He went first, disappearing into the black. I took one last look at the generatorium—the pounding engines, the hissing steam, the heart of the machine that was my prison—and followed.

  The conduit was a claustrophobic nightmare. Cold, smooth metal pressed on all sides. I had to crawl on my hands and knees, the knife at my calf scraping against the tunnel floor. The only light was the faint green glow of Caius’s disc ahead, bobbing in the dark.

  “Keep moving,” his voice echoed back, muffled. “We’re almost to the exit.”

  The air grew fresher, carrying a hint of damp earth and open sky. My heart hammered against my ribs. Outside. After weeks of sterile white walls and shadowless light, the thought of open air, of wind, of a horizon that wasn’t the Tower’s curve—it was intoxicating.

  Then Caius stopped.

  Ahead, a sliver of grey light. A hatch, rusted but intact.

  “This is it,” he whispered. “Once we’re through, we run due east for half a mile. There’s a ruined watchtower. Our ride will be waiting.”

  “Our ride?”

  “Horses. And an escort. Scion operatives.” He glanced back at me, his face half-lit by the disc’s glow. “Ready?”

  I wasn’t. But I nodded.

  He pushed against the hatch. It didn’t budge. He pushed harder, grunting with effort. Still nothing.

  “It’s rusted shut,” I said, a knot of panic tightening in my chest.

  “It can’t be.” He braced his shoulder against it, shoved with all his weight. Metal screeched in protest, but didn’t open. “Damn it. The intel said it was clear.”

  “Your intel was wrong.”

  He shot me a furious look, then turned back, kicking at the hatch now. The sound echoed down the conduit, alarmingly loud.

  “Caius, stop. They’ll hear—”

  “We don’t have time! If we miss the pickup—” He kicked again. Something cracked. The hatch shifted, but didn’t open. “Help me!”

  I moved up beside him, added my strength. Together, we pushed. The metal groaned, then gave way with a shriek that sounded like a dying animal. Cold night air rushed in, smelling of rain and rot and freedom.

  We tumbled out into a ditch overgrown with thorny brambles. Above, the bruised sky of the Rot spread out, starless and vast. We were outside the outer wall—I could see its massive silhouette against the gloom, the Severance Tower rising behind it like a pale finger pointing accusingly at the heavens.

  “Move!” Caius hissed, scrambling to his feet.

  We ran.

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  The ground was uneven, treacherous with hidden roots and shattered stone. We stumbled through the dark, the only sounds our ragged breathing and the distant, mournful calls of something in the Rot. Caius led, his disc a beacon in the gloom. Mine stayed dull grey, but the Taint in my chest was singing, harmonizing with the wild, untamed energy of the land.

  I’d thought the Rot near Morvian was bad. This was worse. The trees here were skeletal, clawing at the sky. The ground glowed with patches of sickly phosphorescence. And the air… it was alive. It pressed against my skin, whispered in my ears, tasted of memory and regret.

  “Ignore it!” Caius shouted over his shoulder. “Don’t listen! Just run!”

  But I couldn’t help it. The whispers were clearer here, louder. Not words, but emotions. Fear. Anger. Longing. A chorus of lost voices.

  …home… so close… why won’t they let us go…

  We crested a rise. Below, in a clearing, stood the ruins of an old watchtower, its stones blackened and crumbling. And beside it, three figures on horseback.

  Our ride.

  Caius let out a shaky laugh. “We made it.”

  We scrambled down the slope, thorns tearing at our tunics. The figures dismounted as we approached. Two men and a woman, all dressed in practical leathers and dark cloaks, faces hidden in shadow. Not Wardens. Their posture was different—looser, more alert.

  “Caius,” the woman said, her voice low and commanding. She pushed back her hood, revealing sharp features and eyes that missed nothing. “You’re late.”

  “Hatch was stuck,” Caius gasped, bending over to catch his breath. “But we’re here. This is him. Kieran. Aldric’s grandson.”

  All three sets of eyes fixed on me. Assessing. Weighing.

  “The one who communes with the Taint,” the woman said. It wasn’t a question. “I am Lyra. This is Renn and Jax. We’re your escort to safe harbor.”

  One of the men—Renn, tall and broad-shouldered—stepped forward, offering me a waterskin. “Drink. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I took it, drank deeply. The water was clean, cold. It washed the taste of the Rot from my mouth, but not the whispers from my mind.

  “Where’s my father?” I asked, handing back the skin. “Caius said you knew where he is.”

  Lyra exchanged a glance with Caius. “We have his location. Deep Level Seven. But extracting him is… complicated. First, we get you to safety. Then we plan.”

  “I want to see proof. That he’s alive.”

  “You will,” she said smoothly. “Once we’re clear of the Tower’s patrol radius. Now, mount up. We need to be at the river crossing before dawn.”

  Jax, the third operative, a wiry man with a bow slung across his back, handed me the reins of a dark mare. “She’s gentle. Just follow Lyra’s lead.”

  I looked back at Caius. He was already swinging up onto his horse, a look of profound relief on his face. He’d done it. He’d escaped.

  I put my foot in the stirrup, hoisted myself up. The saddle was unfamiliar, but the horse stood steady. For a moment, sitting there in the cold dark, the Tower looming in the distance, I felt a surge of wild, impossible hope. We were out. We were free.

  Then Lyra’s head snapped up. “Riders. Approaching fast.”

  I followed her gaze. From the direction of the Tower, a group of mounted figures emerged from the gloom, moving at a gallop. Six of them. Seven. Their armor gleamed dully in the low light. Wardens.

  “They found us!” Jax hissed, nocking an arrow.

  “How?” Caius’s voice was strangled.

  Lyra’s eyes went to Caius’s disc, glowing that persistent, telltale green. “The disc. They tracked the disc.”

  Caius looked down at his chest, horrified. “The suppressants… they weren’t just wearing off. They wanted me to flare. They used me as a beacon.”

  It was a trap. And Caius had led them right to us.

  “Run!” Lyra shouted, wheeling her horse.

  We spurred our mounts, crashing through the undergrowth. Behind us, the Wardens gave chase. I could hear their shouts, the thunder of hooves, the whistle of arrows. One thudded into a tree trunk inches from my head.

  “Split up!” Renn yelled. “Meet at the fallback!”

  The group scattered. I followed Lyra, clinging to my horse’s mane as she plunged down a steep embankment toward the sound of rushing water. The river. If we could cross it, we might lose them.

  We burst onto the rocky shore. The water was wide and black, swift-moving. Lyra didn’t hesitate, driving her horse into the current. My mare followed, stumbling on the slick stones. Icy water surged up to my knees, soaking through my boots and tunic.

  Midway across, a figure stepped out from behind a boulder on the far bank.

  He stood calmly, hands at his sides, as if waiting for a social call. Tall, silver-haired, dressed in Warden blue but without the ceremonial armor. His face was in shadow, but I’d know that posture anywhere.

  High Sage Marius Korr.

  Lyra reined in her horse so sharply it nearly threw her. She cursed, drawing a short sword from her belt. I pulled up beside her, my heart in my throat.

  “Lord Castor,” Korr said, his voice carrying easily over the rush of the water. “Or do you prefer Lyra tonight?”

  Lyra—Castor—didn’t respond. Her knuckles were white on her sword hilt.

  “You were supposed to bring him to the secondary location,” Korr continued, stepping closer. “Not attempt a river crossing with Tower patrols in the area. Sloppy.”

  I stared at her. “Castor? You’re… Lord Castor?”

  She didn’t look at me. “Plans change, Korr. The conduit was compromised. We had to improvise.”

  “We?” Korr’s gaze shifted to me. “Does the boy know he’s part of the improvisation?”

  The pieces crashed together in my mind. The too-convenient escape. The waiting horses. The Wardens arriving just after we did.

  “You set this up,” I said, my voice hollow. “All of it. You’re not a Scion. You work for him.”

  Lyra—Castor—finally met my eyes. There was no apology in her gaze. Only cool calculation. “I work for the stability of Valdrence. Sometimes that means playing roles. Your escape was… expedient. It flushed out the real Scion agents. And it tested your loyalties.”

  She sheathed her sword, nudged her horse forward, crossing the remaining distance to stand beside Korr. They were on the same side. Had been all along.

  The other Wardens arrived on the opposite bank, surrounding Renn and Jax, who had been captured. Caius was there too, dragged from his horse, held between two Wardens. He looked at me, his expression one of utter betrayal. He’d thought he was using the Scions. He’d been the one being used.

  “Bring them,” Korr said, turning away. “The experiment is over.”

  They didn’t bind my hands. They didn’t need to. The walk back to the Tower, surrounded by Wardens, with Korr and Castor riding ahead in quiet conversation, was binding enough.

  Caius walked beside me, his head bowed. His disc had been removed, leaving a pale circle of skin on his chest. He looked naked without it. Broken.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “For what? Lying? Or for being a fool?”

  “Both.” He glanced at me. “I thought I was so clever. Trading secrets. Playing both sides. But he was playing a game I didn’t even know existed.”

  “What happens now?”

  “To me? Interrogation. Then probably detention. Or disposal.” His voice was flat, resigned. “To you? That depends on how useful he still thinks you are.”