The masked figure didn't return.But the fragment stayed.
I kept it hidden in the lining of my cloak, away from scrying spells and watchful eyes. Every time I touched it, the rune flickered faintly—like it still remembered who had carved it, and why.
At breakfast, Serena slid into the bench across from me. She didn't greet me. Just passed a folded parchment across the table.
"The Queen's Office released an official clarification," she said.
I opened the paper.
A new version of the Flameheart incident. Sanitized. Shortened. Names omitted. Dates changed. The rune? Gone. It had been erased from public record.
"They're rewriting it," I whispered.
"No," Serena corrected, "they already did."
I stared at the text. It was pristine—clinical. A report that sounded like it had always been true. But it wasn't. And I had proof stitched into my cloak to remind me.
"Then we move," I said. "We stop chasing their version. We start spreading our own."
Serena gave me a thin smile. "About time."