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It was Dyota.

“What is this?” she whispered.

“That was the day they took your sister away,” he said.

“And that other photo?” Her knuckles whitened around the wood.

“A year before.” He walked around and leaned against the desk. “She did something no witch should ever try.”

Idonea glanced down at the photo. Dark black lines ran along her arms and neck, a blackness took over her veins. She ran her thumb along Dyota’s twisted face. Dyota had fallen into the deepest shadow of darkness.

She swallowed hard. “What?” She knew what he was about to say, but she needed to hear him say it.

“She attempted to cross through the Nexis,” he said. “I’m not sure what made her do it.” Pain lanced through his eyes.

“You said you took her to be safe.” Her voice sharpened. “Safe.”

He gripped the edge of the desk. “I truly am sorry, Idonea.”

She held the frame close to her heart. “What she needs is her sister. I should’ve gone with her." The words tore out before she could stop them. "I should’ve fought more.”

Alcaeus leaned forward and squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sorry for what the High Hierophant did to you. But it will not happen again.”

Idonea took a deep breath. “I’m not to be shackled?”

He looked away, telling her everything she needed to know.

She rose from the chair, her pulse pounding in her ears. “You told him something.” Her voice trembled. “You told him something about me.”

He shook his head. “All I said is I might’ve found a hint to where the relic is.”

“Liar. You knew what they’d do to me.”

His eyes widened. “Idonea—”

“I found that room.” Her voice rose. “Down in the basement. Where you kept her.”

Alcaeus froze.

Her breath shook, but her anger didn’t. “You tell me pieces of truth, just enough to silence me, but you never tell the whole of it.”

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off with a hard glare.

“How long did you keep her caged like an animal?” Idonea demanded. “How long was she bound to a bed? How many times did she cry out for help and you ignored her?”

Alcaeus flinched. “It was the only way. Hate me if you must—”

“Oh, I do,” she said, voice sharpening. “And I will until you give me answers.” She stepped closer, fire building in her chest. “Tell me the truth. All of it. Did Dyota kill those witches three years ago? The ones that fill the cemetery?”

Her voice rang off the walls. “Was it her, Alcaeus?”

He opened his mouth just as the door swung open.

Lysander stepped inside, eyes locking instantly on Idonea. He took in her shaking hands, her wild breathing, the fury bleeding off her in waves. One step brought him closer, steady, grounding, his presence pushing her rage back from the edge.

Alcaeus’ mouth snapped shut.

Idonea’s voice fell silent. Her eyes narrowed. Without another word, she left.