Chapter 65. The Hand Left Open

The corridors leading to Royce’s quarters had once buzzed with half-silent movement—apprentices carrying rites in sealed tubes, runners ferrying petitions between scholars, handlers dragging containers that sometimes hummed. Now they were empty. And scrubbed. Even the scent of dust had vanished. That meant cleansing agents—and intent.

Adria moved through the halls without a shadow. Her coat brushed the walls only once, near the scribe pillar, and the memory stone there sparked—faint, then went dark again. She reached the corner where Royce’s suite had been—tucked between the Vault Index and the Gatewright’s Solarium.

The door bore a Council seal.

Not a lock.

A glyph.

It flickered, reacting faintly to her presence, then dulled again. Either it didn’t register her as a threat… or it registered her as something worse—a conclusion. Her hand brushed the arch.

“Talis, Royce. Access revoked.”

The voice came not from any speaker, but from within the