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“I do,” she said firmly. “Go.”

Idonea stepped towards the room, hand pressed over her half-healed ribs. She was alive. The simple truth was a miracle.

Elzhbeta had escaped, and the relic was closer than ever.

Steam billowed away from Idonea’s skin as she stepped out of the bath, wrapped in a thin cotton robe. Fresh bruises mottled her ribs in ugly shades of violet and green.

She dried her hair with trembling hands and pushed open the bathroom door.

“Kitsa?” she called.

Silence.

Chapter 27

Kitsa stepped through the door carrying her usual smell of ash and lavender. Idonea’s shoulders loosened, finally releasing their tight grip.

Kitsa was alive. Good.

“Ready for lessons?” Kitsa asked, eyes bright with purpose.

Idonea stretched her fingers. “I have to be.”

“Good,” she said. “You can come to the terrace with me. I got approval.”

Idonea’s eyebrows raised. “Even from the Grand Templar?”

Kitsa grinned. “After the attempt on your life, he has agreed to some leniencies.”

“Leniencies,” Idonea repeated, laughing. “That’s generous of him.”

Together they crossed the snowy yard, their boots crunching through the frost, and slipped into the terrace home. The hidden passageway swallowed them in its dim coolness until they emerged into the secret chamber below. Kitsa gestured to the centre circle.

"We'll focus on Resonant manipulation today." She paused, her voice softening. "This will hopefully be a step towards recovering what was done to your mind."

Idonea’s chest tightened. "I can sense it," she whispered. "The gaps. The moments that are... wrong."

Kitsa knelt beside her, placing a hand lightly over Idonea’s. “We will untangle what has been done,” she said. “But Resonance work is never gentle. You need to let the Current answer, even when it hurts.”

Idonea nodded, throat tight. She took her glasses off and laid them beside her. She didn't need them for what Kitsa was teaching.

She inhaled, feeling for the familiar hum beneath her skin. The subtle shift as the Current stirred in her blood. Her nails lengthened, pupils thinning to vertical slits. The chamber’s air vibrated faintly around her.

“Start small,” Kitsa said, her voice seemingly far away. “Choose a memory you trust. Something with a clear emotional anchor. Let its Resonance form your baseline.”

Idonea centred her focus on a single moment: her mother’s hand guiding hers through the shape of a ritual circle. Warm sunlight, the smell of crushed herbs, the certainty of being safe. The memory vibrated with a clean, steady frequency. She let herself harmonise with it, feeling the Resonance settle along her bones.

“Good,” Kitsa said. “Trace how far the harmony holds before you hit distortion.”

Idonea followed the Resonance outward. At first, it held, soft and sure … then wavered. A discord shivered through her skull. Shadows pressed at the edges of what she could see. She pulled back, adjusted, tried again.

The chamber dimmed around her. Her breathing grew loud in her ears. Sweat slid down her spine, and she pushed deeper.

Each attempt met the same resistance: a wall of tangled, off-key Resonance. She tried to slip between frequencies, to find where the tampering began, but the distortions repelled her like mismatched notes.

Her concentration buckled as pain flickered behind her eyes.

“I—” Idonea’s voice cracked. “I don’t think I can do this.”