Theo stood alone in the west hallway, the emergency lights buzzing low above him. The scent of ozone still clung to the air—the blackout's echo. Or maybe Cassian's fear.
He had seen the look on his face. The cut on his arm. The silence that followed.
Lina did that.
And she hadn't hesitated.
"He came for the girl I used to be."
Theo leaned back against the cold marble wall, replaying her words over and over. He wanted to believe it was just adrenaline talking. A front. That the Lina he knew—the one who laughed too loud in the conservatory and snuck cookies into cursed meetings—was still somewhere underneath the steel.
But the truth had been in her eyes.
She didn't need him anymore.
She didn't trust him to protect her.
And maybe… maybe she shouldn't.
Because what had he done when things started falling apart? He hesitated. He waited. He told himself it wasn't time yet.
But Lina had stopped waiting.
He pulled out his phone. No messages. No signal.
Of course. The house knew.
This place was alive in the worst ways. Feeding off silence and secrets.
And she had walked into it alone.
Theo pushed off the wall and started moving, fast. Toward the east wing. The library. The only place she would go looking for answers. The only place dangerous enough to match her mood.
But deep down, he knew—even if he found her, even if she let him in—
He was chasing someone he used to know.
The air in the library crackled—not with magic, but with intent.
Lina hadn't said yes to Lucien's offer of help, but she hadn't said no either.
She was weighing him. The way he spoke. The way he stood just close enough to seem unthreatening, and just far enough to still be dangerous.
He was playing a long game.
But so was she.
"You're going to need help," he'd said.
And she hated how much she knew he was right.
Lina opened the grimoire again. Pages turned like whispers. Each one held something poisonous: a memory, a mark, a name. Then, a page half-torn, bleeding ink.
It was her family crest—warped, corrupted.
Lucien's eyes narrowed. "You shouldn't be seeing that yet."
"Why not?"
"Because once you see the truth," he said, voice low, "you don't get to pretend you're innocent anymore."
The door burst open.
Theo stood there.
Breathless. Shadowed. Eyes flicking between the two of them—Lina with the cursed book in hand, Lucien too close for comfort.
Wrong moment.
Wrong assumptions.
"What the hell is this?" Theo snapped.
Lina didn't flinch. "Research."
Theo's gaze hardened. "With him?"
Lucien didn't move. "Nice to see you too, golden boy."
"This isn't your war," Theo growled.
Lucien smiled. "Isn't it?"
But Theo wasn't looking at him anymore. He was looking at her. At the Lina who used to lean on him. At the girl who used to choose him first.
And she was gone.
"This isn't you," Theo said quietly, stepping forward. "You're letting him twist things."
"No," Lina said, eyes like steel. "He didn't twist anything. He just didn't lie."
Theo's heart sank. "So that's it? You trust him now?"
"I trust the truth," she said. "No matter how it comes."
Lucien smiled faintly, but Lina didn't even look at him. Her eyes were on Theo—and they were full of sorrow.
But no regret.