"Let's focus on the worst part." Fallias's gaze swept across the group, hard enough to pin each of us in place. "If time here is one-to-one, doesn't that mean we're on a shorter clock than we thought? We only have so many days before that… whatever it is… arrives and tries to devour Alex."

The weight of her words settled like stone.

"I've thought about that." V broke the silence, idly tossing his sand sphere into the air, catching it again with practiced boredom. His voice, however, was low, tired. "And while Gin is a conniving, malevolent bastard, I don't think he'd lie about something that hinges on his own abilities. He plays with words, sure, but not the structure of his own craft."

Cordelia's fingers drummed against her sleeve. "I also think he overstated how much Alex can actually assist. What was it he said at the end?" She turned her eyes on me, sharp and unrelenting. "What did he claim you needed?"

"The skills I learned from my… backrooms of the court." The words came out strained, bitter in my mouth.

Her porcelain mask cracked. A flash of raw, molten fury broke through. "Then—" Her voice shook. "Domini damn you, Morres. By every moon, I swear I will smite you."

The heat in her voice silenced the camp. Even Ten, who rarely passed on a chance to mock Cordelia's formality, only raised a brow.

"Okay." Ten folded her arms, chains rattling faintly. "You might need to say out loud what realization broke your perfect ice mask."

Cordelia inhaled sharply, gathering herself. "We agree this is Raldoiv's dream—or at least a dream seeded in his infection. But remember what Gin said. 'The skills Alex had.' His lessons weren't about swinging a blade or throwing fire. They were courtly tricks. Social subterfuge. Manipulation. Wit. Maybe even—"

"No romance," I interrupted quickly, grimacing. "Plenty of learning when someone's lying. How to watch the little tells. How to nudge a conversation without seeming to. How to pull information from slips."

Cordelia pinched her nose as though I'd confirmed her headache. "Fallias. Please, for the love of every Dominus, teach him subtlety sometime."

"Okay!" Fallias beamed, a puff of fire escaping her lips in sheer enthusiasm.

"Back to the subject." Sven interjected dryly. "Are we supposed to assume all that 'combat training' we were thrown into before this… was itself a layer of subterfuge?"

I shook my head slowly. "No. I think it was what it looked like—a distraction. A way to hide me from the public eye, give me room to breathe before the real game started. But this? This feels different. Based on everything we've seen, someone—something—inside Demeterra's domain is aligned with the enemy. Whether it's the Fallen or some parasite clinging to their name, I don't know. Either way, I think our job is to find them. Cut them out."

"Okay, if you already pieced that much together, then what's the point of this facade?"

The voice dropped among us like a blade. Morres stood at the edge of the firelight, his posture steeped in irritation more than menace. His sigh was long, heavy, theatrical. "Lumivis, you said he didn't know."

"Incorrect, Your Lordship." Lumivis's tone was crisp, male, and edged with disdain. "I said he wasn't prepared. There is a vast difference."

Morres pinched the bridge of his nose as if enduring a headache. Then he looked up, meeting us with a weary smirk. "By the way… you aren't in Raldoiv's dream at all—though that was clever perpendicular thinking. You're actually in my bond's dream."

"More lies." I folded my arms, meeting his gaze without flinching. "You don't have one. The only one of you three who ever bound themselves was Temptation. Despite how much Pandora's Box swears Bond and Beast pairings are the spine of balance, you never had the restraint to form one."

Morres's expression didn't shift, but for the first time, his silence was heavier than his words.

The air between us thickened after my words, and I saw it—just for a fraction of a second—the faintest twitch at the corner of Morres's mouth. A crack in his carefully maintained composure. I had hit something, a nerve buried deep.

Stolen novel; please report.

"You don't have one," I said again, sharper this time, refusing to let the silence smooth it over. "The only one of you three who does is Temptation. You posture as if you're beyond such things, but we both know Pandora's Box treats bond and beast pairings as sacred."

Morres's hand flexed against his cloak, and though his expression was calm, the air shifted around him. Not anger—something subtler, something closer to unease.

Across the circle, Temptation chuckled. The sound was low, velvet, sliding through the chamber like smoke. His smile curved, not cruel, but knowing. His violet eyes gleamed with amusement as he tilted his head toward me. "My, my. He does have a tongue sharper than expected, doesn't he, Morres?"

"Stay out of this," Morres said, voice strained beneath its calm veneer.

But Temptation only laughed, deep and melodic, like he was savoring a glass of wine. "Out of this? Oh no, old friend, I wouldn't miss this for all the Starlight Forests in Demeterra's realm. He's correct. I do have a bond. You don't. And it eats at you, doesn't it?"

Ranah leaned forward, elbows on the table, watching with feline interest. Leraje twirled a dagger idly, though her eyes were sharp on Morres, waiting for the reaction. Barbatos crossed his massive arms, his ember-like gaze flicking between the Dominus and me, his growl a low undercurrent in the silence.

Morres inhaled slowly, deliberately. "What you think you understand, Alexander, is only the shadow of truth. My work—my purpose—does not allow the… indulgence of a bond."

"That's not truth," I cut in, my voice steadier than I expected. Basaroiel shifted at my side, feathers puffed, sensing the tension. "That's an excuse. You craft lies like they're silk, but I've seen the threads unravel before. You tell yourself you don't have one because it's easier than admitting you couldn't keep it."

The words landed like arrows. For an instant, Morres's jaw tightened. His fingers twitched again against the table's surface.

Temptation leaned back in his chair, grinning, his voice smooth as ever. "There it is. That little flicker. You see it too, don't you, boy? He masks it well, but not well enough. That wound never closed."

"Enough." Morres's voice lashed out sharp, cutting through the chamber like a whip. Shadows pooled faintly around him, his control strained by the jab. He turned his gaze on me, dark and piercing, his voice quieter now but weighted. "You presume too much."

"I presume exactly enough," I shot back, though my heart hammered in my chest. "You told us this was Raldoiv's dream. Then you said it wasn't—that it was your bond's. But you don't have one. You've never spoken of it, and the others—" I gestured toward Temptation, Ranah, Leraje, even Barbatos. "—they don't believe you either. So which is it? Another lie to herd us along, or the truth you can't bear to admit?"

The silence that followed stretched taut, as though the entire realm held its breath.

Finally, Temptation spoke, his tone soft, intimate, but cutting. "You see, Morres, this is why I rather like him. He doesn't worship the ground you walk on. He looks at the cracks and names them out loud." His smile sharpened, predator behind the velvet. "And you hate that."

Morres didn't rise to the bait this time. His composure settled like a mask, but the strain lingered. "You misunderstand, all of you. This is not about bonds or beasts. This is about containment. Raldoiv is real. His infection spreads through dreamscapes as easily as air through lungs. Whether you call this my bond's dream or his infestation, the fact remains—the longer you hesitate, the more ground he claims."

"You didn't answer the question," I said.

He turned his gaze back on me, and though his tone was calm, his eyes betrayed the flicker of rawness beneath. "And I will not. Some truths are heavier than any weapon you can wield. Do not mistake curiosity for strength, Walker."

For a moment, I almost backed down. His presence pressed against me, suffocating, the weight of centuries of dominion crushing like an avalanche. But Basaroiel pressed closer, a soft rumble rising in his chest, steadying me.

I held Morres's gaze. "Maybe. But sometimes silence is a confession of its own."

A ripple went through the others. Ranah's brows arched faintly; Leraje smirked around her dagger; Barbatos grunted low, like he'd heard enough. Temptation's grin widened, satisfied.

"You've rattled him," Temptation purred, looking delighted. "He'll never admit it, but you have. And that, Alexander, is more valuable than you know."

Morres exhaled sharply, his cloak shifting as he rose from his chair. "This conversation is over." His voice was final, but not victorious. He moved toward the chamber's shadowed edge, his form blurring against the obsidian walls.

Before he vanished fully, he paused, speaking without turning. "You think you have uncovered something, boy. But all you've done is step into another layer of the labyrinth. Pray you are strong enough to walk back out."

Then he was gone, leaving silence in his wake.

For a long moment, none of us spoke. The tension hung heavy, like smoke clinging to the lungs.

Finally, Temptation broke it, his voice silk and amusement all at once. "Delicious. Simply delicious. I haven't seen Morres flinch like that in… well, longer than you've been alive."

"What did I hit?" I asked, my voice quieter now, the adrenaline ebbing.

Temptation's smile turned faint, thoughtful. "That's the trick, isn't it? Sometimes it's not the arrow you loose but where it lands. You struck him in a place he cannot defend, because to do so would mean unmasking truths even he dares not speak." He leaned forward slightly, eyes glimmering. "Keep that tongue sharp, Walker. You may need it more than any sword."

I glanced around the circle. Ranah was watching me with new calculation. Leraje's smirk hadn't faded, but there was respect in her eyes. Barbatos gave a curt nod, approval wordless but present.

And Temptation—Temptation looked like a man savoring the first sip of something rare.

I swallowed, the weight of it all settling in. Whatever nerve I had touched in Morres, it was deeper than I understood. But for now, it was enough to know it was there.

Enough to know he could bleed.

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