The paper trembled in Astra's hand like it was alive.
Not from rain. Not from her shaking. From the seal—crimson wax pressed with a House signet so precise it looked carved into blood. It sat beneath the Crestwright Guild stamp like a smile under a knife.
Astra's interface flickered the moment she'd cracked it open.
GUILD AUDIT NOTICE: COMPLIANCE REQUIREDTIME TO PRESENT: 00:19:47FAILURE: PERMISSIONS LOCKDOWN (SUBJECT)NOTE: PRIMARY HOLDER ACCOUNTABLE
A countdown. A leash with numbers.
Kael's breath caught beside her. His hand stayed at her waist—warm, steady—holding her upright in the wet back street without touching her throat.
Orin's face went hard. Juno looked like she'd swallow her own fear if she could.
Lyra laughed softly, delighted in the worst way. "He's fast," she murmured.
Astra didn't look away from the crimson wax. "He's been fast."
Kael's jaw clenched. "Dorian."
His name didn't slide velvet into Astra's nerves anymore. Seraphine's purge had cut that hidden hook. But the open claim—paper, seals, witnesses—was still there, and it had found a new angle: Kael's "primary holder" label.
The Guild runner stood frozen in front of them, rain cloak dripping, eyes wide like he hadn't expected the street to turn into a tribunal. He stared at the House seal like it scared him too.
"I'm just delivering," he whispered again, as if repetition could clean his hands.
Astra's interface didn't care.
The countdown continued.
She forced breath in. Cinnamon and wet brick. Lantern smoke. City noise pretending nothing was wrong.
"Astra," Kael murmured, rough, close enough that his breath warmed her cheek. "Tell me what you want."
Heat flared low in her belly—sharp and furious—because he kept offering her choice in a world built to steal it.
"I want that countdown gone," Astra said. "And I want the Guild's leash cut off my throat."
Orin barked a humorless laugh. "Good luck."
Lyra's eyes glittered. "Or you walk in and bite the hand holding the quill."
Astra looked down at the paper again. She hadn't even read the body yet—only the stamps, the seals, the threat.
"Orin," Astra said, voice flat, "is he tagged."
Orin's gaze snapped to the runner. He stepped closer without asking, grabbed the runner's sleeve, and smeared black paste onto the seam like he was testing for hidden ink.
The runner flinched. "Hey—"
Orin's fingers paused at the runner's inner wrist. "There."
A faint shimmer—Guild ink, invisible unless you knew how to look. A tracking thread, thin as hair, woven into skin.
Juno inhaled sharply. "They… marked him."
Lyra's smile widened. "Of course they did."
Astra's stomach turned. She'd cracked the wax; the notice had become active; now the Guild's runner was a walking beacon.
Kael's hand tightened at Astra's waist. "Consent," he asked, rough, immediate, "to me stepping between you and him."
"Yes," Astra said. "But don't touch my throat."
Kael moved half a step, shielding without blocking her view, body angled like a wall. Still no collar. Still no grabbing. Still asking like his restraint was a weapon.
Orin hauled the runner closer and hissed, "Who stamped you."
The runner's eyes darted. "I— I don't know. Dispatch."
Orin's voice went colder. "Dispatch doesn't press House wax."
The runner swallowed. "We don't— we don't question sealed work."
Astra's interface pulsed.
NOTE: BEACON ACTIVE (GUILD THREAD)RISK: PURSUIT VECTOR — HIGH
Lyra drifted closer to Astra's shoulder, voice low and silky. "If you keep him here, the net comes to you."
Astra didn't look at Lyra. "Then we cut the net."
Orin's mouth twisted. "Cutting Guild thread takes time."
Astra's eyes narrowed. "I don't have time."
She felt Underchain Admin sitting in her bones like a stolen crown that bit when she wore it. Local. Limited. Costly. But real.
Astra glanced at the countdown.
00:18:03.
The Guild didn't need Hounds if it could freeze her modules. Lockdown would turn everything she'd earned into a closed door—and it would punish Kael for being "accountable."
Astra hated that part most.
Because it was designed to make her care.
She cared anyway.
"Astra," Kael murmured at her ear, voice raw, "I can take him. Get him away."
Astra's throat burned. "No hero runs. Not now."
Kael exhaled hard—anger, relief, both.
Astra stepped closer to Orin and the runner. "Listen," she told the runner, calm as a knife. "If you walk back into Guild halls with that thread on you, you become a rope. If you stay here, you become bait."
The runner's face went pale. "I— I just work—"
Astra cut him off. "Do you want to live."
His throat bobbed. He nodded.
Astra's gaze flicked to Orin. "Can you sever it."
Orin grimaced. "Maybe. But not clean. Guild threads scream."
"Good," Lyra murmured. "Let them scream."
Kael's jaw clenched. "We don't have time for a fight in the street."
Astra's interface flashed again, impatient:
00:17:21.
Astra made the tactical choice like she was choosing where to bleed.
"Orin," Astra said, "strip the thread. Juno, disks ready—if it screams, you bite the signal."
Juno's hands tightened around her disks. "Okay."
Orin pulled the runner's wrist out, pressed black paste into the shimmer, then scraped with a dull knife from his belt—careful, brutal. The runner gasped, knees buckling. Orin held him upright.
The shimmer flared bright for half a second—then snapped into a thin, screaming line that tried to race along the runner's arm.
Juno threw a disk down. It hit wet stone and shrieked, dirty static blooming like mold.
The thread stuttered.
Astra's UI flickered.
BEACON SIGNAL: DISRUPTED (LOCAL)WARNING: TRACEABLE EVENT RECORDED
Orin hissed, "Not clean."
Lyra smiled, eyes glittering. "Nothing is clean."
Kael's hand tightened at Astra's waist. "Consent," he asked, rough, "to moving now."
"Yes," Astra said. "Now."
They ran.
Not openly—no sprint that screamed guilt. A fast, controlled slip through alleys, under awnings, past shuttered stalls. Orin led like he'd lived in every shadow. Juno stayed tight, disks ready. Lyra drifted behind them, always in the right place for someone who claimed she didn't belong.
Kael stayed at Astra's waist—asked-for, steady—guiding her through slick turns without pushing her into walls. His breathing stayed tight, like he could still feel Rusk's voice in his bones even when it wasn't audible.
Astra kept the paper folded in her fist like it was burning.
The countdown ticked.
00:15:02.
They dove into a narrow passage behind a closed bathhouse—Lantern District edge, where perfume and rot mixed in equal parts. A black door waited under a faded sign: SILK & STEAM—pretty lies for dirty business.
Lyra tapped the door twice, then once, a rhythm like a secret.
A bolt slid. The door opened a fraction.
A woman's eyes—hard, bored—took them in. "Lyra."
Lyra's smile was polite poison. "Need the back room."
The woman's gaze slid to Astra's throat wrap, then to Kael's military posture, then to Orin's black paste on his fingers. Her expression didn't change.
"Coin," she said.
Lyra didn't reach for coin. She reached for names.
"House Veyrn is sweeping the market," Lyra murmured. "And the Hounds are hungry."
The woman's eyes narrowed a fraction. That was coin here.
She stepped aside. "Two minutes. In and out."
They slipped inside.
Warmth hit Astra first—steam, scented oil, the soft murmur of bodies behind curtains. The Lantern District always made danger smell sweet.
They didn't stop in the main rooms. Lyra led them through a back corridor and into a narrow private chamber with a low table and a cracked mirror and walls thick enough to swallow sound.
The door shut.
Silence hit.
Astra's lungs finally remembered they were allowed to breathe.
Her interface didn't let her forget the countdown.
00:13:19.
Kael's arm stayed at her waist, steady. He didn't loosen like he was done. He loosened like he was afraid she'd fall if he did.
"Consent?" Kael murmured, rough, close.
Astra's throat burned. "Yes. Stay. But give me space to think."
Kael eased back a fraction—still within reach, still warm, still not a wall.
Orin slapped a muffler sigil onto the door seam, black paste hissing faintly as it set. "We've got maybe five minutes before someone smells us," he muttered.
Juno paced once, then stopped, clutching her disks like rosary beads she wanted to throw.
Lyra leaned against the wall, perfectly at ease, as if the room belonged to her.
"Read it," Lyra said softly.
Astra unfolded the paper.
The Guild stamp at the top was crisp. The language beneath it was crisp too—formal, cold, designed to sound neutral while it built a cage.
Her eyes skimmed.
CERTIFICATION AUDIT — ADMINISTRATIVE ANOMALYSubject: Astra VeyLinked Authority: Primary Holder — Kael Raithe (Guardian)Cause: Unauthorized Administrative Activity within Underchain JurisdictionMandate: Immediate Verification + Containment Protocol ReadinessVenue: Crestwright Guild Hall — Sanctum 9Witness: Guild Master-Registrar (sealed)Sponsor Seal: House Veyrn (Marquis Dorian Veyrn)
Astra's stomach went ice.
Sanctum 9. A closed room. Witness sealed. Sponsor Dorian. It wasn't an audit.
It was a handover disguised as paperwork.
Kael read over her shoulder. His breathing turned sharp. "Sanctum."
Orin swore softly. "That's where they strip crests."
Juno's face drained. "Strip…?"
Lyra's eyes glittered. "Not strip. 'Verify.' With knives."
Astra's interface flickered and added a line beneath the document text like it was translating intention into law.
MANDATE NOTE: SUBJECT MAY BE LOCKED (MODULES) DURING VERIFICATIONPRIMARY HOLDER MAY BE COMPELLED TO "ACKNOWLEDGE STEWARDSHIP."