They didn't run far.
Not after Inversion. Not after hunters with royal orders.
Stellan dragged Mireya off the road and into a culvert cut under the hillside—old stormwork lined with stone, damp and narrow. Water ran in a thin ribbon along the center channel, whispering over grit.
Mireya crouched with her back to the wall, hands pressed to her ears until the ringing backed down to a cruel hiss. Not gone. Just… manageable.
Stellan knelt near the culvert mouth, watching the road through reeds.
Between them, the unconscious hunter lay on his side, wrists tied with his own belt.
Mireya's breath steadied. One. Two. Three.
Her Silence came back in cautious pieces, like an animal testing whether it was safe to return.
Stellan didn't look at her. But Mireya felt his tension through the bond anyway—hard lines, tight focus, anger he didn't spend.
He wasn't forgiving her. He was functioning.
That was worse, somehow.
Stellan reached into the hunter's satchel and pulled out a leather tube.
Wax seal. Sunburst around a crown.
He broke it with his thumb.
The paper inside crackled—loud in Mireya's bruised hearing—then settled.
Stellan read once. Then again, slower.
His jaw clenched.
Mireya watched his face instead of the paper. Faces lied less than words.
"What," she asked.
Stellan didn't answer right away. He lifted the page toward the watery light from the culvert mouth.
There were two sets of writing.
The first was the order he'd already read aloud: RETRIEVE THE CONCORD PAIR ALIVE.
The second was smaller. A routing note. Stamped. Initialed.
Stellan's voice came out rough.
"Transfer detail," he said. "Below the palace."
Mireya's stomach tightened. "Below where."
Stellan swallowed. "Alchemical wing."
The words sat heavy in the culvert.
Alchemical wing meant labs. Chains. Glass and fire and people who called pain "process."
It also meant the same kind of hidden corridors Mireya knew too well.
Mireya's voice stayed flat. "Read the rest."
Stellan's knuckles whitened on the paper. He read anyway.
"Asset held pending… Confessor clearance."
Mireya's throat went tight. "Name."
Stellan's eyes lifted to hers.
The bond carried his reluctance like a bruise.
He said it anyway. "Mave Kydan."
Mireya exhaled once, slow.
So it wasn't just a threat. It was logistics.
Stellan's sister wasn't "missing." She was filed.
Mireya forced her voice steady. "There's more."
Stellan looked back down. His mouth tightened.
"Sublevel access," he read, clipped. "Delivery route through—"
He stopped.
Mireya waited.
Water whispered. A drip hit stone. Somewhere above, a bird called once and then went quiet.
Stellan's voice dropped.
"Through the old Ministry conduit."
Mireya went still.
That conduit was an artery the palace pretended didn't exist. The Quiet Ministry used it to move assets without being seen—out of sight, out of record, out of human concern.
Mireya's fingers curled in the damp.
If they were using the conduit, it meant one thing: they wanted Mave hidden even from the court.
Stellan folded the paper once, sharp. "We have where."
Mireya nodded. "We need when."
Stellan's eyes flicked to the hunter on the ground. "Then we wake him."
Mireya didn't love it.
But she didn't stop him.
Stellan slapped the hunter's cheek once. Hard enough to wake. Not enough to break.
The man jolted, sucking in a breath like he'd been drowning. He tried to sit up and found the belt biting into his wrists.
His eyes snapped to Stellan's blade.
Then to Mireya.
Recognition hit his face—fear first, then discipline as he tried to swallow it.
Mireya leaned forward, voice calm. "You can scream if you want."
The hunter's lips tightened.
Mireya let her Silence loosen just enough to allow sound to exist again—then tightened it around the culvert mouth so it didn't travel.
A private room, made of damp stone and bad choices.
Stellan held the order in front of the hunter's face. "This."
The hunter's jaw clenched.
Stellan's voice went blunt. "Alchemical wing. Sublevel. Mave."
The hunter's eyes flicked away.
Mireya smiled without warmth. "That's a yes."
The hunter swallowed. "I don't know names."
Stellan's gaze went dark. "You just saw hers."
The hunter's throat bobbed. "I don't—"
Mireya cut in, soft. "Who's holding her."
The hunter hesitated. Discipline fighting survival.
Then he said it, like it hurt his tongue.
"Confessor's people. Chapel annex under alchemy."
Mireya's stomach turned.
"Blessing," she said.
The hunter didn't deny it. "Seal."
Stellan's hand tightened on his blade. Mireya felt the spike of it like heat in her ribs.
Stellan leaned in. "When."
The hunter's eyes darted to the culvert mouth, calculating.
Mireya's voice stayed mild. "If you're thinking about running, don't. He'll catch you."
Stellan didn't look like he'd catch him.
He looked like he'd break him.
The hunter licked his lips. "Before dawn."
Mireya's mind moved fast.
Before dawn meant hours, not days.
It also meant Aderic wasn't waiting. He was moving pieces now.
"Where exactly," Mireya pressed. "Which door."
The hunter swallowed. "East sublevel. Iron stair. Two ward locks. Confessor mark on the frame."
Stellan's jaw clenched. "How many."
The hunter's eyes flicked down, then up—counting in his head like it was a prayer.
"Eight inside. Two on the stair. Another team outside as relay."
Stellan stared. "That's for one person."
The hunter's voice was flat. "Not for the girl."
Mireya felt her pulse sharpen. "For what, then."
The hunter hesitated again, and Mireya saw it—he didn't want to say the next part because it would make it real.
Stellan's voice dropped. "For us."
The hunter finally nodded, small.
"They want you brought in," he said. "Alive. Whole."
Mireya's mouth went cold. "Whole."
The hunter's gaze darted to Mireya's throat, to Stellan's hands.
"Intact," he corrected quickly. "The alchemists don't like broken… materials."
Stellan went still.
Mireya felt something in him shift—anger hardening into purpose.
It was the same shift she'd seen when he hunted Hollowbeasts. When he stopped being a man and became a line drawn in the dirt.
Stellan stood.
The hunter flinched.
Stellan didn't kill him.
He just said, voice flat, "If we see you again, I won't tie your hands."
The hunter's eyes widened.
Mireya watched Stellan turn back to her, and for a second she saw the conflict on his face.
Not about the plan.
About her.
He still hadn't forgiven what he'd heard.
But Mave's name had changed the shape of the world.
Stellan's voice came low. "We go in."
Mireya nodded once. "Yes."
"And we use the conduit," Stellan added.
Mireya's jaw tightened. "Yes."
Stellan's eyes sharpened. "Together."
Mireya held his gaze. "No."
The word hung.
Water whispered. A drip hit stone.
Stellan's expression hardened. "No?"
Mireya's voice stayed controlled. "They're expecting a pair. We go in together, we get netted together."
Stellan's jaw flexed. "So what. You want me outside while you walk into the palace."
Mireya didn't deny it. "I can get in."
Stellan took a step closer. "And if you get caught."
Mireya's smile was thin. "Then you don't get caught with me."
Stellan stared at her like she'd spoken a foreign language.
Mireya didn't blink.
This was how she'd survived: minimizing collateral. Cutting losses. Choosing the least death.
She hated that now, with Mave involved, her instincts still worked the same.
Stellan's voice went tight. "The bond—"
"I know," Mireya snapped, then forced herself to lower it. Her hearing still stung. "I know what it does when we split."
Stellan's eyes narrowed. "You don't know how far we can go without it tearing us apart."
Mireya's mouth tightened. "Then we find out."
Stellan looked like he wanted to argue until his throat bled.
Then he exhaled, slow. "Try."
Mireya hated that word.
She used it anyway.
"We don't split miles," she said. "We split roles."
Stellan's gaze stayed hard. "Say it."
Mireya spoke clearly, each sentence a step on stone.
"I go through the conduit. I reach the sublevel stair. I get eyes on Mave."
Stellan's jaw tightened at the name.
"I don't move her until you're in position," Mireya continued. "You stay outside the east service gate. You watch rotations. You pull attention when I signal."
Stellan frowned. "Signal how."
Mireya's mouth twitched, humorless. "The bond."
Stellan's eyes narrowed. "And if it spikes."
Mireya's throat tightened.
If her fear spiked, he'd feel it. If his rage spiked, she'd taste it. If either of them panicked, the Concord would punish.
They'd be walking on a wire and calling it a plan.
Mireya forced her voice steady. "Then we breathe through it."
Stellan stared at her for a beat.
Then he said, low, "You're sure you can get into the conduit."
Mireya's eyes didn't soften. "It was built for me."
That was the problem.
Stellan's gaze flicked down to her scarf. To her hands. To the calm she wore like armor.
"After what I heard," he said quietly, "I don't know what you're capable of."
Mireya's chest tightened. The words hurt more than he meant them to.
Because he wasn't threatening her.
He was admitting he didn't know her.
Mireya looked away first. Toward the culvert mouth, where gray light made everything feel washed out and temporary.
"You think I'm proud of it," she said, voice barely above the water's whisper. "What I did."
Stellan didn't answer.
Mireya swallowed. Her throat burned.
Then she said the truth that tasted like ash.
"I don't deserve your trust."
The bond tugged—sharp, immediate—because she meant it.
Stellan's breath hitched.
For a second, Mireya expected him to step back. To let distance win. To let the playback define her.
Instead, he stepped closer.
Not touching.
Just close enough that his presence anchored.
His voice came out low, against himself.
"Then earn it."
Mireya closed her eyes for half a beat.
The Concord hummed between them like a held breath.
And somewhere far away, under palace stone and alchemical fire, a girl named Mave waited on a chain neither of them could ignore.