Page 88 of Property of Scar

“A bargain…” she continues, her voice still steady, still precise, “… between something ancient and the Seelie Court. Sanctuary in exchange for service.”

My focus sharpens, attention narrowing around the edges of that statement. “What kind of service?”

Her mouth curves slightly, something more contained.

“The kind that benefits both sides,” she says.

I don’t let that stand. “Be specific.”

There’s a pause, not hesitation, but decision, the sense of her weighing exactly how much detail to release now that the question has been pushed.

“We gave him wards,” she says finally, her gaze steady on mine. “Protection. A place beyond easy reach.”

“And in return?”

She holds my gaze a fraction longer this time, something quieter settling under the surface of her composure.

“He gave us soldiers,” she says. “Warriors who do not age. Who do not break. Who do not refuse.”

The words land heavier than the ones before them, the implication settling into the space between us in a way that shifts the air, even if no one moves.

“Perfected,” she adds, almost idly, though there’s something underneath it that doesn’t quite align with indifference, something that suggests the term has been reconsidered since it was first used.

“You trusted him to build that?” I ask, letting the question sit where it is without softening it.

“We trusted the outcome,” she replies smoothly, correcting without raising her voice. “The distinction matters.”

“Does it?”

For a moment, something flickers in her expression, not quite irritation, not quite agreement. “It did,” she says. The smallest pause follows, just long enough to carry meaning. “Less so now.”

It’s the closest she comes to acknowledging it outright, and I let it sit without pressing further, shifting instead to what matters next. “Where is he?”

This time, she doesn’t answer immediately. When she does, her voice drops just slightly, not in volume, but in tone, something more deliberate threading through it. “Beneath your city,” she says. “In the spaces your kind built and abandoned when they outgrew them. Old tunnels, older than the infrastructure that now pretends to replace them.”

“Subway,” Raze mutters under his breath.

Titania inclines her head once. “Yes.” Her attention sharpens again, not outwardly, but in the way the room seems to align around her when she focuses. “The space is warded,” she continues. “Layered… reinforced. He has had time to make it… his.”

“How long?” Cali asks from where she’s still beside Roxy, her voice steady despite everything that’s just happened.

Titania’s gaze shifts to her briefly, measuring, before returning to me. “Long enough,” she says.

I take a small step forward, not enough to challenge the space, but enough to make the question land where I want it. “What aren’t you saying?”

That earns me a look that is sharper than anything she’s given so far, like I’ve stepped into the exact place she expected I would. “He is not who you remember,” she says, and this time there is care in the words, a precision that turns them into something more than information.

A warning.

“He has had time…” she continues, her gaze holding mine without wavering, “… and he has used it.” The meaning settles between us, reshaping everything she’s already said, everything we thought we knew walking into this.

I incline my head slightly, acknowledging the information without giving anything else away. “Good to know,” I say.

Her smile returns, soft, perfectly controlled in a way that feels far more deliberate than warm.

“Isn’t it?” she replies.

The exchange is finished.