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The door creaked open. Lysander stepped through, boots echoing dully. His eyes flicked from her on the floor to the untouched bed. His jaw twitched.

“Your father wants a word.”

She made no attempt to move. “He knows where to find me.”

His left hand tightened. “It isn’t just him.”

“We should be hunting that daemon,” she said, looking at him. “You should be. Isn’t that your purpose?”

“I have my orders.” He averted his gaze, a muscle ticking in his cheek.

Idonea’s chest wrenched with the weight of all the things she wanted to say. She turned her face away.

“You should come.”

She stood from the floor, smoothing out her clothes. “Very well.”

He opened the door, stepping aside. As she passed, her hand brushed against his. Her skin sparked at the contact. She froze and he stilled, eyes darting briefly to hers.

Darkness shrouded the town. The cold bit straight through her cloak. Mist clung low around the houses, swallowing colour until only the gas lamps still looked alive.

He didn't slow for her. Idonea followed anyway, boots crunching against the snow. The long hall loomed ahead.

Behind a long, wooden table in a high-backed chair, sat Alcaeus. The Magistrate and Elzhbeta sat on either side, expressions pinched and calculating. Before them, a spread of food.

Idonea sat in a chair across from them. Hunger snarled in her gut at the smell of roasted game, at the sight of beetroot and mushrooms.

Alcaeus pushed a plate towards her. “Help yourself.”

She pushed the plate away. “Prisoners aren’t given such meals.” Her stomach tightened as if to protest the act of defiance.

Alcaeus looked up at Lysander. “You may leave us.”

There was a pause, a hesitation. Lysander nodded once and turned away. Idonea’s eyes followed him, noting the tension in his movements. He didn’t glance back. She hated noticing when he left a room.

Alcaeus returned the plate to her. “You need to eat, Idonea. You wear no shackles.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Why am I here?” she asked, chin lifted.

The hall was silent but for the faint crackle of the fire and the occasional creak of the floorboards. Her stomach growled. Her gaze flicked to Elzhbeta, whose dark eyes tracked her.

Alcaeus’ hands rested on the table. He looked to the Magistrate before returning his gaze to her. “We don’t want a panic. We can’t tell the others of the daemon attack.”

“The attack will be explained as a misuse of Current,” the Magistrate said.

Idonea shook her head. Her laugh, bitter, muted. “Of course. Propagate fear of their own selves. Easier than facing what’s out there.”

She sat back, letting the chair support her weight. Neither of them answered. She thought of Lysander, his silence. She thought of the way his hand had lingered near hers. He’d promised they’d hunt the relic. The daemon.

Her fingers knotted in her lap.

“Why cover it up?” she asked. “They’re bound to doubt your story.”

Elzhbeta leaned forward. “They’re children. They have no reason to doubt us.”

Idonea’s mouth twisted. “They have a right to truth.”

Alcaeus let out a long breath. “If they thought a daemon was out there. That something slipped through the Nexis, well, this place would eat itself alive.”