The silence inside the council chamber deepened until it felt like the tower itself was holding its breath.

  All eyes had snapped toward the five Archbishops the moment Darius spoke his accusation, but none stared harder—none carried more weight—than the two who stood at the far ends of the table.

  Selene and Darius.

  Selene did not lift her head. Her cheek still rested lazily on her forearm, her chin tilted toward the Archbishops as though she were too bored to sit up straight. But her eyes—those molten gold eyes—tracked every twitch, every breath, every betraying flicker of expression among the five priests. They gleamed with the quiet hunger of a jungle cat deciding which throat to sink its teeth into first.

  Across the room, Darius's stare was pure iron. Emerald eyes, hard and cutting, locked onto the group with open hostility. There was no attempt to hide it. He looked like he could draw Devotion in the same breath as he exhaled.

  And the Archbishops felt it.

  Malrek was the first to break. His voice cracked the silence.

  "Well." His tone tried for calm but landed just short of irritation. "The young Inquisitor's stare is quite fierce. I would almost believe he intends to strike us all down where we stand."

  Darius didn't blink. "If the moment calls for it," he said, "I will."

  Four of the Archbishops shifted, unease rippling through them. Malrek's eyes narrowed, and then a smile rolled across his face.

  "I shouldn't be surprised. You are the successor of Garran the Tearless."

  "He hated that moniker." Darius glared at Malrek.

  "He didn't use to." Malrek scoffed as his eyes drifted towards Selene.

  Rhyla Venn could feel the tension building in the room. However, there was something that made her more uncomfortable. She took an unconscious step away from the other Archbishops—subtle, but unmistakable. She didn't defend herself or them. She simply created distance, as though instinct whispered danger, and she obeyed without question.

  A murmur rippled through the gathered leaders. All of their eyes followed her movements. Even Selene's lips curled in faint amusement.

  Malrek saw their eyes and followed them as he turned sharply toward Rhyla. "Sister Venn," he said tightly, "what is the meaning of this?"

  Rhyla gave a soft, rueful smile. "It would be a lie to say I had not… expected something like this. I have felt it for some time." Her gaze lowered. Her eyes scanned the four archbishops in front of her. "I simply had no reason to trust that feeling. Not until now."

  Tiber Kaswyn, all sharp lines and permanent disapproval, snapped forward. "And how do we know," he barked, "that this little display is not merely a ploy to deflect blame?"

  Rhyla didn't flinch. "We don't," she answered calmly, then turned to Darius. "Young Commander. I assume you have brought this to light because you have a way to detect hidden… taint?"

  Darius nodded once, not elaborating.

  Rhyla inclined her head. "Then I am willing to undergo anything required to prove my innocence."

  Selene lifted her head, finally, expression cool. "Anything?" she asked. "Even offering a drop of your blood to a demon?"

  Shock flashed across Rhyla's face. The other four Archbishops recoiled visibly.

  "You wish to give our blood to a Demon to test us for corruption? Outrageous." Archbishop Meridan Holt declared.

  Ravokar—who had been reclining casually in his chair—rolled his eyes hard enough for one to worry they might get stuck there.

  "First of all," Rav said, lifting a finger, "I find your constant use of the words taint and corruption to describe our blood deeply offensive. I would prefer the phrase demonic influence. Much more polite."

  The Inquisitor Grand Master Varin Solgrave—broad, grim, and radiating disapproval—snorted. "What else would you call something that drives sane decent men to madness? Gods damn your influence. It's a foul taint."

  Rav shrugged. "Mortals go mad for all sorts of reasons. Your last Valenfor Emperor was a tyrant foaming at the mouth, unless the history books here are wrong. I don't recall him being Demonkin."

  Valerion, the Emperor of Valenfor, slammed a hand on the table. "Watch your tongue, demon," he growled. "Or I will remove it myself."

  Rav gasped dramatically and slumped back in his seat. "Someone's a daddy's boy. Positively, terrifying," he deadpanned. "Truly. Anyway. Mortals breaking under power they do not understand is their weakness. Not our evil."

  Shockingly, the Pontifex nodded. "On that point, we agree."

  Rav gave him a satisfied nod and continued. "All I need is a sample of blood. A piece of flesh, if you're feeling generous. It's simple to detect demonic influence, no matter how deep they hide it."

  The Pontifex exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing. "If any of them are willing to give their blood to a demon for testing, I will not forbid it. Nor judge them."

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  The four Archbishops recoiled. All eyes focused on them once again. They were sure the Pontifex's compliance would be a shock to the spy. Shockingly, they gained nothing from their reactions. Darius in particular scoffed in annoyance.

  "Absolutely not," Meridan Holt snapped.

  "Never," Kaswyn hissed.

  "I'm sorry, I can't bring myself to allow that." Johan Crestwell apologized with pleading eyes.

  Malrek's voice was cold and final. "I would rather fall dead on this floor."

  All eyes turned to Venn—the only one who had not answered.

  She exhaled softly, then turned toward the Pontifex and Saint Augustine. "If you can guarantee that the demon will do nothing beyond verifying my corruption," she said, "then I will comply."

  The room stilled.

  The Pontifex looked to Morgan.

  The First Witch rose without drama. Her voice was quiet, but every syllable carried weight.

  "I swear," she said, "on my blood and the honor of the First Coven, that no harm will come to Archbishop Venn."

  Kaswyn scoffed loudly. "What good is the honor of a coven of witches?"

  Selene's head lifted from the table, and she placed her back against her chair. Vaylora began to roll off her, but Morgan's elegant hand touched her shoulder to calm her down. However, the rage burning beneath her eyes sent chills down the spines of those who looked into them. Morgan's eyes flicked towards the foolish man, and Kaswyn instantly dropped to his knees, clawing at his throat.

  Air was forced from his lungs, and his face reddened. He tried to will the Vaylora around him to protect himself, but it would not heed his call. He gasped in desperation. Morgan looked at the dying man with detached fascination. Many of the Sanctum wanted to stop her, but they all found themselves losing the courage to move.

  Morgan's hand left Selene's shoulder as she walked towards the Archbishops. With a tilt of her head, she said, "What good is breath to a corpse?" she asked softly. "Allow me to relieve you of it."

  "Lady Morgan," Saint Augustine said quickly, rising to his feet. "Please. He meant no true offense. I apologize on his behalf."

  Morgan didn't take her eyes off Archbishop Kaswyn. "We both know that's not true. But for the sake of proper investigation, I will spare them. For the moment."

  Morgan looked away. Air returned. Kaswyn collapsed, coughing violently.

  Across the table, Emperor Rhydan bellowed a delighted laugh. "Fool! Mocking the First Coven—you deserve worse."

  Valerion leaned forward after Morgan returned to her seat. His smile was sharp with obvious longing. "You're far more spirited than I expected," he said to Morgan.

  "You have no idea," Morgan responded.

  The Valenfor Emperor turned his gaze to the remaining four Archbishops. "You four. None of you?" he asked. "Not a single one willing to volunteer, to prove your innocence?"

  "No," Malrek said, voice stiff.

  "Absolutely not," Holt rasped.

  "You understand by doing this, you make it infinitely more difficult to find the culprit among you?" The Emperor asked.

  "That's assuming the young Commander's accusations are true. I will not throw away my pride for accusations." Malrek turned his head to look at Archbishop Venn, who simply smiled at him gently.

  "Pride may be a virtue for those who walk the thorned path. But we are teachers, shepherds. We have no use for such things." Her voice was calm, almost motherly.

  "Then what do we need?" Malrek asked her mockingly.

  "The desire to seek out the best for those around us, and the conviction to see that through. Regardless of what it takes." She smiled again, and Malrek said nothing. Saint Augustine nodded his head, and the Pontifex closed his eyes in deep thought.

  Valerion let out an amused chuckle, then looked at Morgan. "Can you contain those that refuse to... cooperate?"

  "Of course," Morgan murmured. She lifted a hand.

  The response was immediate. Glyphs dormant for centuries ignited with sudden, furious light. They blazed in chains along the walls, spiraling upward from floor to ceiling in interlocking patterns. The four Archbishops barely had time to react.

  Malrek's eyes went wide. "What—" The glyphs peeled free from the stone. Their mouths opened in silent shouts, but no sound escaped. The tower swallowed them whole. And then—nothing. The glyphs snapped back into the walls as if they had never moved. The light faded. The hum ceased. Four empty spaces remained where the Archbishops had stood. The Cardinals leapt to their feet. "What is the meaning of this?!" one shouted.

  The Pontifex raised a hand. His voice was calm. "Lady Morgan," he said, "I trust they will remain unharmed?"

  "They will," she replied. "At the very least, no one from the Hallows will harm them."

  Morgan's gaze slid to Darius. "You will have access to interrogate them. Later. First, we settle matters here."

  Rhyla Venn swallowed, stepped forward, and asked quietly, "What must I do?"

  Rav grinned. "Don't move."

  With a flick of his finger, a razor-thin cut opened across her neck. A thread of blood lifted free from her bronze skin, drifting to him. Rav caught it with a laziness bordering on arrogance and let the blood droplet hover over his fingertip. He looked at the wound on her neck and said, "You can take care of that yourself, I'm sure."

  Venn nodded and brought her palm to the wound on her neck. She sealed the cut with a simple brush of her palm—holy magic knitting flesh instantly.

  A glyph flared over Rav's fingertip. Vaylora rippled through the air and flowed through the bead of blood that hovered there, as if he were cooking the blood in the flames of his Vaylora. The glyph vanished, and he swallowed.

  "…She's clear," he said. Then wrinkled his nose. "Though you need more meat in your diet, sweetheart."

  Venn smiled gently. "I do not eat anything that once had a heartbeat."

  Rav gagged theatrically. "Genuine piety."

  The Inquisitor Grand Master studied Rav… then Venn… and slowly exhaled, letting go of whatever suspicion lingered.

  He turned to Darius. "Speak with me privately before you interrogate the others."

  "Yes, Grand Master," Darius said with a bow.

  The Pontifex looked between the two of them. He said nothing, but tension radiated from him like heat off steel. He was the Pontifex, but he had no control over the punishment of crimes against members of the Sanctum. He could only plead.

  "I expect no bias in your investigation," he said at last.

  The Grand Master snorted. "You're one to talk."

  The Pontifex gave a tired, self-aware smirk. "A fair point."

  Morgan's attention shifted at last to Lucen, who had been watching with folded arms and an insufferably patient expression.

  "Well," she said, "since the room has shifted so drastically from our original talks… High Saint Lucen, why don't you share what you came to share?"

  Lucen rose with a competitive smirk aimed squarely at Darius.

  "I will," he said. "To begin: I have successfully destroyed all known Demon Hearts on the continent…"

  A ripple of shock spread through the room. That task should have taken him at least several more years.

  "…and," he continued, "I believe I have located a living descendant of the First Coven."

  The room erupted. Selene, in particular, sat up in her seat.