"You are too frightened."
Her face went still. There. A small, perfect hit.
"Take her," I said.
Arthur moved. Marielle didn't resist until the aura thread touched her wrist. Then her body jerked, not from choice but from whatever red glass remained in her palm. The splinter flared.
Abi and the observer both reacted. Too late.
Marielle opened her mouth. This time, no self-silencing mark crawled over her throat. Instead, her shadow moved, rising behind her, thin and black, with too many angles for a human shape. The winter garden became colder. Eron whimpered from the floor. Arthur's men drew their swords.
The observer's expression sharpened into something old and deeply unamused. Abi went very still.
The shadow leaned toward Marielle's ear, then spoke with her mouth. "The witness refused."
The voice was not hers. Not human. Not quite sound.
"The door remains hungry."
