The trip home was silent.

  I stared at my father’s profile—jaw set, eyes fixed forward, unreachable as always—while my mind spiraled.

  How long had they held me? How dire was the fallout? What exactly had Marcus told them?

  I rubbed my sore wrists, the metal cuffs having left deep red marks that would bruise by evening. Through the window, dawn light painted the city in shades of gold and grey.

  I had spent an entire night in that cell.

  “Your grandfather is furious,” Father said finally.

  Furious. Not worried. Not concerned for my wellbeing.

  Furious.

  “Marcus talked,” I said flatly.

  “Did he?” Father’s tone suggested he already knew. “His family will handle him.”

  Of course they would. The Alvanes always protected their own, no matter how spectacularly Marcus failed. No matter what consequences his incompetence created for others.

  What about me?

  Expendable.

  Sirius’s word buzzed in my skull like an insect I couldn’t kill.

  “And us?” I asked.

  “Your grandfather is managing the situation. You need to lay low. Do as you’re told.”

  Like I haven’t been?

  I swallowed my protest.

  My eyes drifted to the driver’s reflection in the rearview mirror. A non-magical man in his mid-forties. I recognized his face but couldn’t recall his name. He’d worked for my father for a decade—longer than most of the other workers.

  “I was interrogated,” I said carefully, dragging my father’s attention back. There was no reaction. “By someone named Sirius.”

  Father’s eyes flicked toward me briefly. “Sirius Astarion Lioren.”

  I recognized the surname. “Lioren? The family that funded that literacy program last year?”

  “Yes.” His jaw tightened. “Old bloodline. Turned traitor two generations ago. He’s become one of Isaia’s inner circle.” A pause. “Stay away from him.”

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  As if I had any intention of seeing him again.

  And yet his name circled through my thoughts.

  Sirius Astarion Lioren.

  The car turned onto the private road leading to the estate. Through the windshield, I could make out the iron gates—runes glowing faint amber as they recognized our approach. They swung open silently.

  The Velmire mansion rose before us among perfectly curated gardens. All grey stone and sharp angles. Imposing. Cold.

  Home.

  The driver pulled to a stop in the circular drive.

  “Alya.” His voice was low. “Your grandfather will want to speak with you.”

  My stomach dropped.

  “Be respectful,” he continued. “Control your temper. Accept responsibility for the failure.” A pause. “Don’t mention the interrogator unless he asks directly.”

  I nodded, throat tight.

  “And Marcus?”

  “Don't mention him. The Alvanes will handle their son. We handle our own.”

  Marcus’s fate was irrelevant. What mattered was salvaging the Velmire name.

  I stepped out into the cold morning air. My cheeks burned despite the chill.

  The heavy oak doors swung open at my approach responding to my bloodline. I stepped inside alone, my father remaining by the car to speak with the driver.

  My heart hammered against my ribs as I walked through the marble halls toward my grandfather’s study. I knew the way by heart. Cold blue torchlight. Windowless corridors. I’d been summoned here too many times to count.

  None had ever been pleasant. This time would be worse.

  I stopped outside his door and knocked twice.

  “Come in.”

  The door swung open.

  The study was bright—chandeliers blazing, sunlight pouring through the garden window. Everything designed to make whoever stood before Grandfather’s desk feel small.

  It worked.

  Grandfather stood by the bookshelf on the second level, casually skimming through leather-bound spines as if he had all the time in the world. As if I weren’t standing there, exhausted and filthy from a night in a cell.

  My feet carried me instinctively to one of the burgundy sofas in the middle of the room.

  I sat. And waited.

  He took his time selecting a book—red leather, gold lettering I couldn’t make out from this distance. Carried it down the wooden staircase with measured steps. Set it carefully on his mahogany desk.

  I wanted to rub my stinging eyes. The adrenaline keeping me awake was beginning to fade, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

  “So you failed.”

  I gritted my teeth. It hadn’t been me who had panicked. It hadn’t been me who—

  No. There was no reasoning with Cassius Octavian Velmire. There never had been.

  He’d bent down to retrieve something from behind the desk. A cane. My skin erupted in goosebumps, my right hand instinctively gripping my left.

  He wouldn’t. Surely he was above that now. That had been over ten years ago—the cat I’d tried to hide in my room, the lesson he’d taught me about disobedience.

  He’d never struck me since.

  I’d made sure not to give him reason.

  “I apologize,” I kept my head low, stealing glances to track his movements and using all my will to keep my breathing going.

  “You apologize.” He repeated it slowly. Then louder: “You apologize!”

  The cane hit his desk with a crack that made me jump.

  My heart slammed against my ribs. I swallowed hard.

  “Do you have any idea what this means?” His voice dropped lower, quieter, more dangerous. “Do you have any idea what this costs this family?”

  I didn’t move. The echo of that strike still vibrated in my chest.

  “I have spent years,” he continued, each word measured, deliberate, “years shaping you into someone they couldn’t ignore. Someone worthy of the name Velmire. You had one chance, Alya. One! The Wielders don’t offer second ones.”

  He took a few steps closer. My eyes followed the trajectory of the cane in his hand.

  “Do you think they’ll let you back into their meetings after this? Give you another role in an important mission? After you exposed weakness in front of them?” He scoffed. “No. They’ll smile, they’ll pat your head, they’ll call you Velmire’s granddaughter… and then they’ll close their doors in your face.”

  My hands twisted together in my lap. I wanted to say something, anything, but Father’s warning echoed in my mind.

  Be respectful. Accept responsibility.

  Grandfather turned away, leaning slightly on his cane. “Do you have the faintest idea how many strings your father and I had to pull to get your name on that list? How much we had to pay?” His tone grew sharp again, each word like a lash. “And for what? For you to come back empty-handed and humiliate this family?”

  He turned back to look at me. His expression softened just enough to make it worse.

  “You had potential, Alya. The others saw it too. But potential means nothing without results.”

  He stepped closer, until he was looming over me.

  “I’m not angry because you failed,” he said finally, voice quiet. “I’m angry because you made me believe you wouldn’t.”

  My head dropped further. I hoped he couldn’t see the tears burning behind my eyes.

  He exhaled—long and tired—and walked slowly back to his desk.

  “You’ll fix this,” he stated simply, dismissing me with a wave of his fingers.

  I sprang from the sofa like it had scorched me.

  “You’ll find a way to make them forget. Or you’ll make yourself useful elsewhere.”

  Another wave of his hand. The door swung open in front of me.

  I took one step toward freedom.

  “The Velmires do not raise disappointments.”

  I didn’t turn around. Didn’t acknowledge the words.

  The door shut behind me with a soft click that somehow sounded like a cell door locking.