Chapter 32. Between Teeth

The saint was supposed to stand forever.

That’s what the Conclave told itself—stone carved so deep with prayers and silver that no wind, no wolf, no time could wear it smooth. But forever only holds as long as no one decides to put their hands on it.

We were halfway through the Law phase when the sound came—stone shearing like ice breaking underfoot. It was loud enough to stop the clerk mid-sentence, loud enough to turn every head.

The fourth pillar split down its carved wolf’s spine. The ward-sigil etched there flared, not silver, but an ugly mix of violet and rust before vanishing entirely.

Gasps. Then the whisper-wave: sabotage.

Mavienne swore softly beside me. “That’s Vesper metal,” she said. “But the binding marks—” She cut herself off, looking as if she’d bitten her own tongue.

Rhea, three rows back, smiled without teeth. “And Dusk Spire rune-work,” she said, voice carrying just enough for those who were meant to hear. “Looks like the