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“They’re still here?” Idonea’s mind was foggy. She knew something had happened on the ship. She knew she’d attacked the High Hierophant. But why?

Lysander half-reached for her again, then drew back sharply and stood. “They’ll leave soon.” His jaw tightened. “Sooner, if Alcaeus has his way.”

She licked her lips. A dryness ached in her throat. “How long … how long have I slept?”

His gaze flicked to her, then away. His fingers closed and opened once before he forced them still.

“Too long,” he said. Then, softer. “About fourteen hours.”

Idonea’s hand fumbled for her glasses on the bedside table, then for the cup of water. Her fingers shook as she lifted it, spilling some down her wrist. Cool relief coated her parched throat.

“And Kitsa?”

Lysander sat next to her on the bed, close enough that his heat brushed against her skin. “She helped heal you.”

Idonea frowned. “But…” Her fingers drifted to her temple, rubbing slow circles. The harder she reached for her memories, the more they slipped backward into fog. Shadows without shape. “I don’t remember. It’s … clouded.”

His right hand lifted, hesitating for a breath, before settling against her cheek. “How much did he hurt you?”

She pressed her hand against his, leaning into his warm touch. She closed her eyes.

“Resonants…” She hummed lowly, trying to force the thought into shape. “They did something.”

His fingers twitched, the muscle in his jaw tightening. The furrow between his brows deepened. “With magic?”

Idonea opened her eyes, the ceiling above blurry at first. “Like I’m missing seams. An … emptiness.”

Lysander drew in a sharp breath, ready to speak, but the door creaked open.

Kitsa slipped into the room. The usual flame in her eyes was dimmed, rimmed red from crying. She smelled faintly of ash and lavender, a bitter comfort. She didn’t speak right away, only crossed to the bedside table and set down a clay bowl filled with dried herbs. Her gaze found Idonea’s face and paused there.

“You’re awake,” Kitsa murmured.

Idonea tried to smile, but it faltered halfway. “And you to thank for it.”

Kitsa’s expression darkened, her gaze shifting to Lysander. “Give us a moment?”

His hand slipped away from Idonea’s cheek with reluctant slowness. Then he nodded once and stood, his presence leaving the air colder. She hated how much she noticed. The door clicked shut.

Kitsa perched on the end of the bed. “They tampered with your resonance.”

The words hit like a blow. Idonea sucked in a sharp breath. “No, I ... Kitsa, I remember what happened. I attacked him after the Resonants left. I remember that. How could they—?”

“I know,” Kitsa said gently. “Which means they didn’t wipe your memory. They rewove it while it was still whole.”

Idonea stiffened, horror coiling tight in her belly. “Are you sure?”

“Resonance mending with cruel intent,” Kitsa said, jaw tightening. “You had Current burns on your wrists. Deep ones.”

Idonea looked down at her trembling fingers.

She swallowed hard. The taste of bile burned her tongue. Lysander serves them. Alcaeus is devoted to them. The thought turned her stomach.

“It was a memory … but not,” she whispered, recalling the encounter with Dyota. “They … threaded something through my mind, didn’t they?”

Kitsa exhaled through her nose. “After I examined you, I found impressions in your resonance. Seams — places stitched closed.” She swallowed.

Idonea’s stomach twisted. “So, I can’t see them.”