The locks on the tea shop door clicked open by themselves.
Mother Rook stood very still with one hand lifted as if she could hold the door shut by will. Her fingers trembled once, then steadied.
Sable's palm burned around the Crown Seed. The Seed pulsed hard, then harder, as if it recognized the voice outside and wanted to answer.
Vessa grabbed Sable's wrist with both hands. "Hold it tight. Do not let it jump."
Sable tried to nod, but her throat had tightened. The tea Mother Rook gave her had dulled her tongue, yet the pressure behind her teeth kept rising. It was heat mixed with fear.
Jory moved to the side window, peered through a crack in the curtain, then swore quietly.
"She brought more than a patrol," he said.
Mother Rook spoke without turning. "How many."
"At least eight. And a measure bearer. And someone with a binding staff."
Vessa's mouth tightened. "She came prepared."
Outside, the copy spoke again. Sable's voice, clean and familiar.
"Mother Rook. Open."
Mother Rook answered without raising her voice. "I did not invite you, child."
The copy laughed softly. "You invited me when you hid what belongs to the oath chain."
Sable flinched at the words. The copy did not sound angry. She sounded certain.
The door creaked as it began to swing inward.
Mother Rook snapped her hand down.
The door slammed shut again, hard enough to rattle the tins on the shelves. A chalk line on the floor near the entrance flashed pale, then vanished as if it had been swallowed.
For one breath, everything steadied.
Then the chalk line reappeared, but broken in three places.
Mother Rook's face tightened. "She is tearing at the threshold."
Vessa whispered, "She should not be able to do that."
Mother Rook glanced at Sable's palm, then at Sable's eyes. "She can if she has your name in her mouth."
Sable's tongue felt thick and heavy. She forced words out anyway. "I did not tell her."
"I know," Mother Rook said. "That is why I am afraid."
The copy's voice became gentler, almost coaxing. "Sable. I am not your enemy."
Sable's heart jumped. The copy spoke as if she could see Sable through the wood.
Jory stepped back from the window. "She is looking right at the door. Like she knows where we stand."
Vessa kept her grip on Sable's wrist. "She does. The Seed is a compass. It points to its signer."
Mother Rook moved to a shelf behind the counter and pulled out a jar of pale powder. She set it on the table and twisted the lid off.
"Salt," Jory said.
"Not salt," Mother Rook replied. "Ground oathstone. It is older and less polite."
She pinched some powder and drew a small circle around Sable's chair. Then she drew a second circle around the table itself. The powder shone faintly, then dulled.
Sable watched the lines with fear she did not want to show. "What will that do."
"It will keep words from traveling," Mother Rook said. "If your true name tries to climb out of your mouth, it will fall back down."
Vessa exhaled. "Good. Do that."
Outside, the copy's voice sharpened.
"You think you can lock me out. You cannot lock yourself out."
The door handle turned again, slow and deliberate.
Mother Rook spoke to Jory without looking away from the entrance. "Back room. Open the trap."
Jory blinked. "You have a trap."
Mother Rook gave him a flat look. "I have three. Move."
Jory sprinted through a curtain behind the counter.
Vessa leaned close to Sable. "If we run, she follows. If we stay, she takes the Seed. We need a third option."
Sable whispered, "What option."
Vessa's eyes held hers. "Make her hesitate. Make her doubt she can control you."
Sable swallowed. "How."
Vessa glanced at Mother Rook. "Speak to her. Not with the false name. With intent. The Seed listens to intent."
Mother Rook snapped, "Do not encourage her to speak."
Vessa answered, "If she does not speak, she becomes a piece on their board."
The door clicked again. Another lock releasing. The sound felt like a threat.
Sable's palm burned. The Seed pulsed fast, fast, fast.
Sable fought the urge to lift her hand toward the door. It was not a conscious urge. It was a pull that lived in her bones.
Outside, the copy said, "I can make this easy."
Sable forced herself to stand. The powder circle around her chair shimmered, then held. It did not block her body. It held her words.
Sable faced the door.
"My name is not yours," she said.
The words came out slightly muffled, as if spoken through cloth, but they carried.
The copy fell silent for a moment.
Then she replied, "It is ours."
Sable's throat tightened. "You are wearing my face."
"So you can survive seeing me," the copy said. "If I came as myself, you would not listen. You would burn first and ask later."
Vessa hissed under her breath. "She is trying to sound reasonable."
Mother Rook's lips pressed into a thin line. "Reasonable lies are the hardest."
Sable stared at the door as if she could see through it. "Who are you."
"I am you," the copy said. "I am the part that remembers the oath correctly. I am the part that stayed with the chain."
Sable's stomach turned. "You stole the Seed."
"I retrieved it," the copy replied. "From people who would use it to erase us both."
Mother Rook spoke loud enough to be heard. "And you brought a patrol to my door."
"They are not here for you," the copy said. "They are here to keep the city from tearing apart while you make a choice."
Vessa laughed once, sharp. "You are protecting the city by hunting her."
The copy's voice cooled. "I am protecting the realm by restoring the signer to the chain."
Sable's hand tightened around the Seed. "Restoring. Or replacing."
Outside, someone else spoke, lower and rougher. Not Sable's voice.
"Enough talk. Break it."
Jory returned from the back room at a run. "Trap is open. It leads into the service drains. It is not comfortable."
Vessa nodded. "It will do."
Mother Rook reached for Sable's wrist. "Give me the Seed."
Sable hesitated. Her body screamed to keep it. Her mind screamed to share it with someone who knew more.
Mother Rook's eyes softened by one degree. "Child, I can carry it. I have carried worse."
Vessa's hand tightened on Sable's arm. "If you hand it over, you might not get it back."
Mother Rook snapped, "I am not the enemy."
Vessa replied, "Neither is the copy. That is the problem. We do not know which danger is closer."
The door shuddered.
A long crack appeared along the wood, not from force, but from craft. The crack widened as if it were being unstitched.
Sable felt her tongue strain against the dulling tea, trying to shape sounds she did not choose.
Mother Rook saw it. Her face went hard.
"She is pulling your true name," Mother Rook said. "She is using it like a hook."
Sable's eyes widened. "I cannot stop it."
"You can," Vessa said. "You can bite down. You can choose pain over obedience."
Sable clenched her teeth so hard her jaw ached.
The pressure in her throat surged.
A syllable rose anyway, half formed.
Mother Rook slapped her palm on the table and spoke a witch phrase that made the jars rattle. The powder circle around Sable flared bright and the half syllable collapsed back into Sable's mouth like it had struck a wall.
Sable gasped, shaking.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Mother Rook did not look pleased. "Do not thank me. Move."
Jory yanked the curtain aside. Behind it, a narrow hatch had been pulled open in the floor. A dark stairwell dropped into damp air.
Vessa pushed Sable toward it. "Down."
Sable stepped onto the first stair.
The Crown Seed pulsed and the mark on her palm burned again. Not pain this time. Direction.
Sable froze.
"It wants something," she said.
Vessa snapped, "It wants to be with her. Ignore it."
Sable shook her head. "No. It wants the door."
Mother Rook's eyes narrowed. "Explain."
Sable stared at the cracked wood. "The door is a threshold. The Seed is reacting to the threshold. It is not just reacting to her."
The copy's voice came again, closer now, as if her mouth was near the crack.
"Sable. Do not run. If you run, she catches you in the street again. If you come out, you can stop the bells."
Sable's breath caught. The bells. The city bending. People arguing about months.
Sable looked at Mother Rook. "Can I stop it."
Mother Rook's answer was immediate. "Not alone."
Vessa's voice was lower. "And not by trusting the copy."
Sable's throat tightened. "What if the copy is right about one thing. What if the Seed needs a signer."
Mother Rook leaned close. "It needs a signer who is whole."
Sable stared at the crack. "Then what am I now."
Mother Rook's gaze held hers. "You are the part that can still choose."
A sharp impact hit the door. Wood groaned. The crack widened enough for a thin sliver of daylight to cut across the floor.
A hand appeared through the opening.
It was Sable's hand.
It reached in, fingers steady, palm up.
The copy's voice turned soft. "Give it to me. I can carry it without shaking."
Sable's hand with the Seed shook once. Rage rose behind her teeth, clean and sharp.
Vessa whispered, "If you give it up, you might never get yourself back."
Jory hissed, "If you keep it, the city might tear itself into seasons."
Mother Rook said, "Down the hatch. Now."
Sable looked at the offered hand through the crack.
Then she made her decision.
She stepped off the stair and walked to the door.
Vessa grabbed her arm. "Sable."
Sable did not look back. "If I run forever, she controls the chase. If I face her, I might control the choice."
Mother Rook's voice was tight. "You do not open that door."
Sable swallowed. The powder circle still held her words, but her intent pressed against it.
"I will not open it," Sable said. "I will answer it."
She raised her Seed hand toward the crack without letting it touch the wood.
The Seed pulsed.
The crack widened on its own.
The door did not swing open.
Instead, the space between the shop and the street thinned, as if the threshold became a sheet.
Sable saw the copy clearly through it.
Same face. Same eyes.
But the copy's palm held a different mark.
Not a name.
A thorn crown.
Behind the copy stood Registry officers, and between them stood Captain Maera Flint with her hands bound in silver cord.
Maera's face was bruised. Her eyes were furious.
The copy looked at Sable and smiled gently.
"I brought you a reason to be sensible," she said.
Maera's voice cut through, hoarse and sharp.
"Do not listen," Maera said. "She is not you."
The copy tightened the silver cord and Maera's breath hitched.
Sable's vision narrowed.
Vessa cursed softly. "Hostage."
Sable's voice came out low. "Let her go."
The copy's expression stayed calm. "Give me the Seed."
Sable's palm burned so hard she thought she might drop it.
The Seed pulsed once, deep and heavy, like a judge's gavel.
Then, inside Sable's bones, a word rose from somewhere old.
Not the full true name.
Only the first sound of it.
Sable felt it press against her tongue, demanding to be spoken.
And the copy's eyes widened in sudden fear, as if she could feel that sound forming.
Sable understood at once.
If she spoke even one syllable, the Seed would listen.
And the world would, too.