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Orell’s gaze sharpened, just a fraction. “You were unconscious for most of that day, Miss Colwyn.”

“I wasn’t unconscious when he tried to reach me.”

He paused. Then, gently, “Miss Colwyn. I strongly advise you to let this go.”

“Is he safe?” Her voice came out weaker than she wanted, stripped of its earlier resolve. “I have to know.”

“All you have to know is that we are protecting this city in the best way we can,” Orell replied. “Attachments complicate governance. And this attachment you seem to have acquired has complicated things considerably. If you know what’s good for you, you do as I say and let it go.”

An Umbralyn walked past in the corridor before she could argue further.

Orell’s voice hardened.“To your quarters, Colwyn. Now.” He turned back to his papers before she could answer.

She obeyed and turned back toward her room, and understood on the way that their conversation had confirmed two things.

One: Caelith was alive. If he wasn’t, there would be another story. One like hers perhaps, that he’d died at the Fracture or while experimenting with the shards. The fact that they hadn’t said so, that he’d simply moved into the ether as though he’d never existed, meant he was being kept somewhere.

Two: he was paying for her silence. And he would keep paying for as long as she kept it.

***

She returned to her studies the next morning.

It was still Nuada who was assigned to oversee her work. He made no mention of the chamber, of her injuries, of the rumours that had already begun to calcify into record. He simply gestured for her to take her place at the stone table and slid a slate of instructions across its surface.

“Begin,” he said, barely looking at her.

Maia inclined her head and obeyed. She copied notes on the fragments exactly as given, even when she saw the inefficiencies. She recorded shard responses without commentary. When corrected, she accepted it without the familiar itch to probe or challenge.

Nuada did not look at her hands for too long. He did not flinch when the shards responded. He did, however, glance at her face more than once, as though waiting for something that did not come.

At last, he returned to his own work.

“You are quiet,” he remarked. “You are not a quiet human.”

“I’m doing my work,” Maia replied evenly.

He studied her for a moment, frowning, then looked away. Both of them relaxed, just a little.

“The assessment,” he said in a more careful way than usual. “That wasn’t my idea. I want that understood. Whatever that is worth to you.”

It was worth something, she found, despite herself. Not forgiveness. The smallest, strangest relief of being told the truth by someone who had no reason to offer it. That was rare these days.

He looked away before she could answer, and neither of them spoke of it again.

When her tasks were complete, she did not wait to be dismissed. She rose and left.

“Scribe—” he began.

But she was already gone.

***

On her way back to her quarters, she came across Selinne in the lower corridors. It was after curfew, the setting sun almost below the skyline, beacons lit and sky orange.

“Maia, thank the Gods.” She paused for air. “You’re being watched. And you’re not nearly as subtle as you think. Come with me. Away from prying eyes.”

She glanced upward as an Umbralyn lingered at the end of the corridor, very deliberately not looking at them.