Chapter 129

The hearing chamber was so full it felt like the walls themselves were straining to keep the air inside. Elders sat stiff-backed at their long benches, scribes perched with quills ready, the tally bowls lined along the front like open mouths. Richard stood at my side, every line of him set, and Nathan carried the rusted lockbox to the center table as if he were placing a heart under glass.

He opened it and lifted the bronze seal. Even dulled by age, the sigil caught the light. The tracer Nathan had brushed into the grooves glimmered faintly green. A murmur rolled through the benches. One elder made the sign of a blessing, another reached for his ledger as if numbers could erase what he was seeing.

Nathan set the seal down. “We recovered this from a hidden chamber beneath the west corridor,” he said. “The stamp matches impressions on historic decrees held in this house. The tracer you see was applied last night.” He gestured and two guards brought Callen forward. Nathan raised a lamp and lifted Callen’s hands. Under the light his cuticles and the webs of his fingers glowed green.

Gasps skimmed across the room. Someone muttered that it could be a trick. Richard’s voice cut through before the doubt gathered. “We will take questions after evidence.”

Monroe laid out a stack of invoices and contracts, each tagged with red thread. “These are shell transactions routed through a consultancy that does not maintain a physical office,” he said. “The rounding errors match the falsified invoices from the salt shipment. The signatures align with contracts managed by Darius’s team.”

Simon placed a small linen pouch next to the paper and loosened the cord. Black poppy petals slid out in a dark spill. “From a store closet tied to those invoices. Same compound we found in Theo’s bloodwork.”

Nathan set the final piece on the table. The whistle lay on a square of cloth, the string still looped around it with a neat tag. For optics.

The moderator turned toward Callen. “Do you deny contact with this seal?”

Callen tried to hold himself upright, but sweat gathered along his hairline. He opened his mouth twice before words came. “I carried messages,” he said. “I was told to move notes between rooms, to mark crates for delivery. I didn't sit the councils. I didn't call votes. I did what I was told.”

“By whom,” Nathan asked.

Callen’s eyes flicked across the benches and skittered away when they met certain faces. “They never signed. They sent symbols and times. A ring left in a dish. Chalk on a post. I knew what it meant.”

Richard stepped closer. “How long.”

“Years,” Callen whispered. “Before the fire. Before the last Alpha fell. The room has always had two doors.” His jaw trembled. “I was a messenger.”

A low wave of sound moved through the elders. One stared at his hands. Another rubbed his thumb over a ring again and again. A third said any house needs private committees in times of war, then winced like he had said too much.

The guilt was there in their shoulders and their mouths. The Hollow was not gone. It was only careful.

The moderator called for order. Questions rose and were answered, not to every mind’s satisfaction, but enough to put shape to the danger. When it ended, the seal sat on the cloth like a truth no one could stuff back into the wall.

The chamber spilled into the atrium in a rush of robes and whispers. Mira touched my sleeve and tipped her chin toward Darius. Lime dust clung to the edge of his boots, pale against the dark leather.

Nathan met me near the stairs later with a grim face and a tool roll he had lifted from Darius’s kit. He unrolled it on the war table. Three shaved hinge pins gleamed. A small vial clinked as it settled. When he uncorked it the air went sharp. “Acid,” he said. “Used to weaken old metal fast. He keeps it with the pry bars.”

We found Darius in the atrium where the light fell pretty through the cracked skylight. Richard approached him with civility that made my teeth ache. “You have a talent for being wherever something is breaking,” he said conversationally. “Impressive.”

Darius spread his hands. “Only doing my part, sir. These halls are treacherous. Perhaps Amelia would allow me to escort her through the atrium this afternoon. It would calm the staff to see her protected.” His voice stayed mild, but his eyes held mine too long.

Richard tilted his head. “We accept,” he said. He even let a thin smile touch his mouth. “You will take point. We will follow.”

Darius inclined his head, satisfied. He didn't see Nathan at the balcony rail passing signals to two men in plain clothes. Richard didn't glance up, but I knew what he had done. Surveillance would shadow us, and every turn Darius took would be marked.

When we were alone again, the relief in me met the coil of anger I had been holding all morning. Richard slid down the wall in the quiet of the rehearsal corridor and sat with his knees bent, head tipped back for a beat before he looked at me.

“You win trust like breathing,” he said. “I envy it. I step into a room and everyone hardens. You step in and they lean closer. I try to guard you and it looks like a cage.”

I sat beside him. “They lean because you stand next to me. If I walked in alone, they would call me incompetent and send for you anyway. Alone we set traps, together we catch them.”

He turned his hand and threaded his fingers through mine. “Keep saying that,” he said, his voice softer now. “I need to hear it until it sticks.”

When the hall had emptied, I led him into the dark rehearsal room. The stage boards smelled of dust and polish. I closed the door and faced him. “I need to feel safe,” I said. “And I need to know you’ll listen.”

He stilled. “Tell me how.”

“I’ll talk,” I said. “You’ll listen and follow.” I stepped into him and set my palms on his chest. “Slow at first. Hands where I put them. Ask before you take.”

“Alright,” he said softly. “Show me.”

I lifted his hand and set it firmly at my waist, feeling the heat of his palm spread through me. I guided his other to the back of my neck, the weight of it steadying me. When I tugged his shirt free he stilled but let me peel the fabric away, his chest rising under my touch.

I slipped my own buttons open one by one, the air brushing my skin, and he watched intently, his eyes tracking every movement, controlled, not rushing. I told him where to touch, along my ribs, lower, deeper, and how much pressure I wanted. He obeyed with exactness, his hand shifting only when I asked, every movement deliberate.

It wasn’t just compliance; it was focus, the kind of attention that made me feel like every word I spoke mattered, like the act of listening was his devotion.

When I pulled him down to the boards I climbed into his lap and felt his hardness pressing against me. I rocked slowly, guiding him, teasing us both until I finally slid him inside.

The stretch made me gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders, but I held his gaze as I sank fully onto him. “Keep your hands where they are,” I said, and he obeyed, gripping the boards at his sides while I set the rhythm. Every movement was deliberate, my hips rolling until the ache turned into heat that spread low and deep.

I told him when to thrust harder and when to hold still, savoring the fullness. He asked softly before he changed anything, a quiet “here” or “now,” and I answered each time.

The pace built slow, the tension winding tighter, until my body trembled and the wave broke, dragging him with me. Release came sharp and sweet, leaving me clinging to him as if the ground itself had steadied beneath us.

We stayed like that for a long time, my forehead against his. His pulse thudded under my palm. The world outside waited, but for those minutes it could not get in.

I stepped into the corridor later and caught a faint crackle from the direction of the archives. Curiosity dragged me toward it. In the shadow of the stacks I found Darius half turned to the wall, a small radio cupped in his hand. His voice was low and fast. “Cargo secure. Ready for transfer. David’s call-sign confirmed.”

I didn't breathe until he clicked it off and strode away. Nathan traced the signal within the hour to a truck idling near the eastern gate. Guards pried open the rear door and found crates labeled as medical aid. Blankets and gauze lay on top. Beneath, compartments had been built into the wood, the kind that could hide weapons or men.

The realization sank cold. David’s allies were not only at the borders. They were inside our walls, wearing the faces of help. I looked at Richard and saw the calculation in his eyes, the same math I felt working through my ribs. We would lay out what we had. We would bait the next door. And when it opened, we would be standing there together.