Seventeen minutes was enough, if every door agreed with the map.
The first did not.
The family seal recognised Leon, displayed his name and denied access. Since breaking the contract, he was no longer considered the heir. The Void Dragon struck the stone with one claw, but Leon stopped him.
"My father would have put a second lock behind the first."
Rem found a narrow slot by the floor. The Guild had stripped the son of his right to enter, but it still trusted the man who assessed the contents.
The seal would not accept his palm.
"Access suspended," the archive announced. "Assessor Rem is under internal review."
Nothing changed in Rem's face. Only his thumb moved over the metal edge again.
"Can you verify the asset with the family code?" he asked Leon.
"The code was revoked."
"A revoked right is retained for thirty days in case of an inheritance dispute."
Leon placed his palm beside Rem's. The door requested a reason for joint access.
Rem said:
"Dispute of the titanic core's assessment."
An old lie opened the way for us.
Beyond the door, the air smelt of cold metal and medicine. Instead of the expected shelves of contracts, we found rows of glass cells.
Beasts lay inside.
Stone pups, cocoons, eggs in nests of salt, blinded birds, transparent spirits in vessels. Every plaque bore a person's name, a debt and the date of confiscation. Some of the dates were older than I was.
One young beast was beating its head against the glass as Rem passed. The assessor slowed, but did not stop.
"The control room first," he said. "Otherwise we'll open one cage and burn the rest."
Styx released two scouts. The first led us towards the records, while the second vanished into the ventilation shaft.
I found the Wang family cell.
Empty.
The top record stated that an egg of unknown species had been destroyed in an accident eighteen years ago. Kane's signature stood beneath it.
Rem prised up the edge of the plaque with a knife. Beneath the first layer was a transfer sheet: the egg had been sent to the city orphanage disguised as dead biological material. The recipient had given no name.
A strip of paper had been attached to the document.
I knew my mother's handwriting from her laboratory notes.
"If the creature wakes, do not make a contract for it. If it chooses the boy, do not interfere."
I read it twice.
Not a promise that Styx would choose me. A request that no one take that choice away from her.
Styx climbed down from my collar and touched the paper with her legs.
The scout returned from the ventilation shaft. One wing was burning white.
A thin bright line crossed the ceiling.
"Purge initiated," the archive announced. "Time to complete destruction of infected hosts: nine minutes."
The stone doors closed, and walls of white fire flared between the rows. The flames did not touch the floor or the glass: they travelled along the seals, the contracts and the living bonds inside the cells.
Rem tore the master ledger from its stand.
"We can take the documents out through the void."
The first scream came from the nearest cage.
I looked at the ledger, then at the locks.
"The documents can wait."
"The fire can't."
"That's why we're opening every cage."
Open in the reader