The air in Eclipse's chamber pressed in like the weight of an unanswered question.
She's ready.
Cyan didn't need to speak. Her body had already shifted—elegantly reshaped into the form of a key. Smooth spirals of silver-blue shimmered with faint light. Ten minutes. That was the window.
That would have to be enough.
Everything else was in place. Cyan, the Sisters, the mask—each one positioned like pieces on a board. A board he hadn't designed but was determined to control.
Except one piece was missing.
Asera.
The twelfth Sister wasn't in the basement. She hadn't been among the eleven when he counted them that day. No one mentioned her. No one slipped up. That in itself was the tell.
They were hiding her. Holding her back for something else.
Tomorrow was the ritual. He didn't know what it required, but he could guess what it cost. A Warbringer didn't need prophecy to recognize a sacrifice. Zephira would not walk out of that chamber. Not unless he moved now.
