Trafalgar packed in his room while Aurevane toasted itself outside.

The city had settled on its preferred version of the day already. Arlen di Marest had claimed first place, Orven von Halbrecht had somehow transformed into the stern mentor of a young inventor, and the Grand Alchemical Conclave would be remembered by most guests as another varnished event swathed in applause, banners, and expensive wine. The audience had been spared all of it - the homunculus on the stage, the words Void-born material, the sight of Esmond shackled like a rotten secret given human shape.

Inside Trafalgar’s room, the truth looked considerably less varnished. Esmond lay pinned near the far side, unconscious, cuffs scoring his wrists and ankles with dull suppressive light. Caelum kept post beside him, already treating the old man less like a person and more like cargo with teeth. Selara stayed close to the homunculus, who wore a simple cloak now and tracked the room without speaking. The girl’s small hands perched against the fabric as though she were learning what hands were supposed to do when no one had handed them a task.

Trafalgar snapped the clasp of his suitcase shut and considered Caelum. "You will handle Esmond."

"Yes, Young Master."

No explanation followed, and Trafalgar didn’t ask for one. Caelum would move him, hide him, keep him breathing, and make sure no one located him unless Trafalgar allowed it. That was enough. Asking for details would only invite answers that stretched the day longer, and Aurevane had already taken enough from him.

Selara registered his attention drifting toward the homunculus. "Say it."

Trafalgar weighed her. "You already know what I’m going to say."

"I’d rather hear it out of your mouth."

The homunculus didn’t react to either of them. Perhaps she understood. Perhaps she only registered sound. That uncertainty was the ugliest part.

Trafalgar’s attention returned to the pale face beneath the hood.

"She looks like a child. That’s the dangerous part - a face like that makes people want to soften the answer before they’ve earned the right. But there’s Void-born material inside her. No one knows what it can do, what it can call, what it can answer, what it might become if something wakes beneath that skin. If she turns into a doorway, a plague, a signal, or a weapon, hesitation could kill people who never saw her and never agreed to carry this risk."

His fingers compressed around the suitcase handle.

"If something happens with her," Trafalgar said, "don’t hesitate."

Selara’s expression held, but her hand drifted slightly toward the homunculus’s shoulder without touching. "You mean kill her."

"I mean survive long enough to choose. If that choice is killing her, make it."

The words didn’t feel good. They weren’t supposed to.

Selara considered the girl beside her. "I know what she carries, Trafalgar. I’m not pretending she’s harmless."

"Good to know."

"But I won’t treat her the way Aurevane did." Her voice ground around the name. "I’ll study her properly. No stage and no committee, no polite cages dressed up as care. If she’s dangerous, I’ll know before the Council or Aurevane ever lays a hand on her."

Trafalgar held her stare, weighing the answer. It didn’t make the risk dissolve. Nothing would. But Selara had seen the room, the work, the crime beneath the craft. She was angry enough to protect the girl and clever enough to kill her if the worst came.

"That’s acceptable," he said.

Selara’s mouth tightened. "How generous."

"It wasn’t generosity."

"I know."

Caelum lifted his attention from Esmond. "Young Master, should I send the report now?"

Trafalgar turned toward him. This part needed care - more care than the fight, almost. A blade cut one throat at a time; a badly written report could move armies.

"Yes. Inform my father. Keep it narrow."

Selara’s attention flicked to him, and Trafalgar carried on. "Tell him that while I was in Aurevane I traced something tied to Void-born material. I followed it because the shape was wrong, and that led me to Esmond."

Caelum listened without writing anything down. He never needed to.

"Include that Esmond is alive," Trafalgar continued. "He confessed that House Vaelion did more than imprison him. Under the current patriarch, they used him as a restricted asset with controlled laboratory access. He also admitted that the Vaelion arranged his route toward Icarus because Icarus had access to a Void Creature."

Selara’s stare tightened at the shape of the report. A truth with missing bones.

Caelum asked, "Should I state that House Vaelion caused the Thal’zar and Sylvanel war?"

"No. We don’t have proof." Trafalgar’s voice hardened. "Say the connection touches the Thal’zar incident and Void Creature research, but the evidence is incomplete. My father needs to know there’s smoke. He doesn’t need a fire drawn for him by someone who can’t prove where it started."

"And Darian du Thal’zar, Young Master?"

The room cooled by a degree. Selara didn’t move, though Trafalgar saw her hear the name - saw the question reach her and halt at the edge of her face.

Trafalgar held Caelum’s attention. "He isn’t part of this report."

"Understood."

That was all Caelum said, and somehow it was worse than any question. He knew exactly what was being omitted and why.

Selara’s attention lingered on Trafalgar a breath longer. "That’s a careful report."

"It has to be."

She accepted the answer without pressing. Trafalgar could read the choice in her face. She knew he wasn’t handing his father everything. She knew Darian’s name meant another piece sat on the board. But Selara had already waded deep enough into Great Family filth because her master’s shadow had dragged her there. Wedging herself between a Morgain heir, his father, Vaelion, and Thal’zar would be a special breed of stupidity, and Selara, for all her temper, was not stupid.

"Fine," she said. "I’ll take her. Matteo will help with the legal record. Aurevane will behave because I have enough teeth at their throat for now."

The homunculus glanced up when Selara shifted, as though motion itself had become a question. Selara’s voice gentled by a painful degree. "Come with me."

The girl followed.

Caelum laid one hand near Esmond’s restraints. "I’ll remain behind until this is handled."

Trafalgar nodded. "Do what you need to do."

"I always do, Young Master."

That was probably meant to reassure. From Caelum it came out closer to a warning aimed at the rest of the world.

Trafalgar lifted his suitcase and carried himself to the door. Before he stepped out, Selara spoke again.

"Trafalgar."

He glanced back.

"Don’t let this place convince you it ended well."

His attention crossed once to Esmond, then to the homunculus. "It didn’t."

"Good. I wanted to be sure."

He left the room. The hallway outside felt absurdly ordinary. Guests drifted below. Staff carried luggage. Somewhere, someone laughed about the event, content with a version of Aurevane that had never existed. Trafalgar moved through it with the suitcase in one hand and far too many unfinished problems pressing behind his ribs.

Cynthia waited near the exit. She stood by the window, one hand wrapped around the strap of her bag, dressed for travel now rather than celebration. When she registered him, her posture eased in a way she probably didn’t notice and he definitely did.

"Is it over?" she asked.

Trafalgar glanced back once - toward the closed door behind him, toward Selara, Caelum, Esmond, and the girl Aurevane had almost shown the world.

"For Aurevane, yes."

Cynthia weighed his face. "And for you?"

Trafalgar didn’t answer right away. For once, the first answer that surfaced had nothing to do with Vaelion, Void Creatures, Esmond, or any rotten thing buried beneath a beautiful city.

It was only Cynthia.

And admitting that, even to himself, felt far more dangerous than anything Aurevane had aimed at him all day.