Parker stared at the fragment pulsing in Nyxavere's hand—black, vile, and breathing like it still thought it had rights. A piece of soul, dark and corrupt, writhing like a parasite caught mid-feed. The throne hall hadn't breathed in minutes. The silence wasn't just tension—it was confusion, fear, denial clawing at the edges of comprehension.
And then Parker asked the only thing that made sense.
"Two times?" His voice was calm. Measured. But it carried like thunder across porcelain.
The kind of voice that meant someone was either about to get answers—or buried for not having them.
"Robert tried to kill me once. At the estate. That's the only time."
Nyxavere smiled. Not cold. Not cruel. Just the kind of smile gods give mortals when they say something small-minded, his eyes twitched at her look. She lifted her hand, the same one still gripping the corrupted soul, and snapped two fingers.
Space cracked.
