"How do I break it?"
Ignatius was silent for a long moment, staring out at the mountains.
"You have to go back," he finally said. "To where it began. Ashbourne Palace—it still exists, you know. Transported to America in the 1890s by a wealthy collector obsessed with English history. Now called Ashton Estate."
"Pryce told me," Rhys admitted. "He wants me to go there."
"Of course he does. It's where his power is strongest. Where the curse took root."
Ignatius turned to face him. "But it's also the only place where you can break it."
"How?"
"By remembering. By facing the truth of what happened—not Valerian's warped version, but the actual truth. By choosing differently than Elara did."
"Elara didn't choose anything! She was murdered!"
"She chose silence," Ignatius said gently. "She never fought back, never demanded to be heard. She accepted her fate as a powerless peasant girl in a world controlled by men. And that acceptance—that surrender—fed into Valerian's curse."
Rhys stood abruptly. "So you're saying this is her fault? Victim blaming a woman who was—"
"I'm saying," Ignatius interrupted firmly, "that in this life, you are not powerless. You are not Elara. You are Rhys Castor, a man with agency, resources, and knowledge of what's happening. You can choose to fight. To demand truth. To refuse to be owned."
"And that will break the curse?
"It's the only thing that might."
Rhys paced the small library. "What about the other lives? The six between Elara and me? Did they try to fight?"
"Some did. Others surrendered." Ignatius retrieved an old journal from a shelf. "I've tracked your incarnations as best I could. Each one ended the same—with someone you loved dying violently. But the circumstances varied."