The drive felt longer than it actually was.

  When we finally reach the mansion, Lorcan shuts off the engine and gets out quickly. He doesn’t even give me time to unbuckle my seatbelt. He walks a few steps toward the stairs, and the moment he hears the car door slam behind me, he stops for two seconds. Looks at me. He looks terribly exhausted.

  “Get some rest,” he says. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  He says it like a polite order. Like a protocol.

  I’m done with protocols.

  “Lorcan!”

  Lorcan keeps walking toward the lobby and the stairs. Nothing stops him. I follow right behind, the sound of our footsteps echoing through the house.

  He goes into his office. He doesn’t close the door. He knows I’m going in after him anyway. I watch him walk to the fridge and pour himself a double glass of whiskey. With ice.

  “Whiskey again?” I ask.

  “It helps me think,” he says, downing the entire glass in one go. When he speaks again, his voice is rough. “You’re particularly intense today.”

  I refuse to respond to that, resisting the urge to drive the glass straight into his skull.

  “How long have you known?” I ask. “About me being a .”

  “I didn’t know,” he replies. “I confirmed it today.”

  He pours himself another double and sits in his chair, setting the glass down harder than necessary on the desk.

  “And your way of confirming it was… letting me volunteer?”

  Lorcan takes a sip.

  “First,” he says, “I tried to stop it. You volunteered. Second, that’s why I asked for an analysis beforehand. That’s when I confirmed what I already suspected.”

  He swirls the glass in his hand, the ice clinking rhythmically against the glass.

  “If the wipe had been viable, I would have respected your decision. Maybe.”

  “‘Maybe’?”

  “I still remember when you asked me not to erase you,” he says. “At the ice cream shop. Do you remember? That wasn’t a light conversation.”

  Damn it, Lorcan.

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

  “That was before I knew what I was getting into.”

  “I remember very clearly telling you exactly what you were getting into,” he says. “You just didn’t want to listen.”

  I can’t answer that. It’s true.

  He stares at the glass for a moment, almost hypnotized, then finishes it in one swallow.

  “The reason they called you a ,” he says, his voice hoarse, “is exactly what they told you. You’ve already seen too much. Professional or emergency erasure wouldn’t have made a difference. After the wipe, you would’ve lived fine for a while. A week. A month. A year. It doesn’t matter.”

  His expression changes. Turns cold.

  “After that, you’d start seeing things without understanding them. Feeling cold for no reason. Reacting before knowing why. Your energy has already adapted to sensing them. There’s no mnemonic intervention that can fix that. And eventually, we would’ve crossed paths again.”

  “How?” I ask, startled.

  “We’d repeat everything all over again, explaining all of this to you… or you’d be possessed, and I’d have to deal with it. The difference between me and a professional is that if I’d filed the form that night, you would’ve been marked for elimination. We did everything we could to keep you safe.”

  The silence that follows is heavy. I lower my head.

  “So I never really had a choice.”

  “The last real choice you had was when you walked out of the ice cream shop,” he says, standing up. “And I still blame myself for not stopping you in time.”

  I nod slowly. I’m not crying. I’m not screaming. That part is over.

  Lorcan goes back to the fridge for another double.

  At this point, it’s painfully clear that I brought this on myself, and I have to accept it. The question eating at me now is—

  “So…” I say. “Can you tell me what I am to you?”

  Lorcan frowns.

  “Elena—”

  “No,” I interrupt, stepping closer. “Answer that. If you went to these extremes to ‘protect me,’ if you paid the price so I wouldn't have to, if you’re getting drunk right now just to confess all of this… what am I to you?”

  Lorcan avoids my gaze. I step closer.

  “Am I a burden? An administrative problem you feel obligated to solve? Am I something else?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “I mean…” I continue. “I’m just a stray dog you picked up and decided to keep safe. Right?”

  Lorcan doesn’t respond immediately.

  He opens his mouth. Closes it. Grips the glass too tightly. I swear I can hear the glass and the ice crack.

  “It’s not that…” he finally says.

  “Then tell me what it is,” I reply.

  More silence. This time, it doesn’t weigh the same.

  Lorcan looks straight at me.

  “We haven’t discussed it.”

  “Well, I think this is the perfect moment, don’t you?”

  Lorcan looks away.

  And I’ve had enough.

  I nod slowly. There’s no irony in the gesture. No reproach. Just exhaustion.

  “It’s fine,” I concede. “You don’t have to answer now.”

  I turn away before he can say anything else.

  “Good night, Lorcan,” I say. “If I have to stay, then you don't get to leave.”

  I don’t wait for a response. I close his office door and leave. The hallways feel strange, as if the house changed while I wasn’t looking.

  I finally reach my room, lock the door, and sink against it.

  I don’t go straight to bed. I get trapped in my thoughts once again.

  It’s painfully clear now that forgetting isn’t an option. This “beacon” inside me is something I’ll have to live with from now on. And if I want to stay alive, I can’t afford to fight the Kestrels.

  Lorcan…

  Lorcan is just the warden of a beautiful cage. I can’t blame him.

  I put on Elisabeth’s pajamas and collapse onto the bed. I close my eyes, but exhaustion isn’t enough to make me sleep. Instead, a memory I had carefully tucked away keeps resurfacing.

  It was Elisabeth’s voice. Calm. Certain.

  “All mages learn to control their vital energy. That’s what makes us brighter or dimmer to demons.”

  She never told me how.

  I’m sure it comes at a cost.

  But I have nothing left to lose.

  The consequences start catching up — with everyone.