Ember's POV
The chains are too tight.
They drag me down the courthouse steps, my wrists bleeding where the iron cuts into my skin. I try to fight, but two guards hold me—one on each arm—and I'm too weak from two weeks of hiding in ruins and eating scraps.
"Please," I beg. "Please, I didn't do anything. I need to find my sister—"
"Quiet, murderer," one guard snarls, shoving me forward.
The courtroom doors swing open, and suddenly I'm blinded by sunlight streaming through tall windows. The room is packed with people—hundreds of them—all staring at me like I'm a monster.
They think I burned Cindervale. They think I killed three hundred people.
My own neighbors. My friends. My family.
"Order!" Someone bangs a hammer on wood. "Bring the accused forward."
The guards drag me to a wooden platform in the center of the room. I'm surrounded on all sides by angry faces. Someone spits at me. Someone else screams that I should burn.
I search the crowd desperately, looking for anyone who might help me. Anyone who knows the truth.
That's when I see him.
Thorne.
My childhood best friend sits in the front row, his dark hair perfectly combed, his clothes expensive and clean. He looks older somehow, even though it's only been two weeks. Sadder. But when our eyes meet, he looks away quickly.
"Thorne!" I shout. "Thorne, tell them! Tell them I didn't do this!"
He doesn't look at me.
"Silence!" The hammer bangs again. "The court will hear testimony from Thorne Caldwell."
No. No, this is good. Thorne will tell them the truth. He's known me since we were five years old. We grew up together. We told each other everything.
He'll save me.
Thorne stands slowly and walks to the witness stand. His hands shake slightly as he places one palm on a memory crystal—the kind used to verify truth in court.
"State your name," a cold voice says from above.
I look up and my blood turns to ice.
The judge is the man from my fragmented memories. The one with the cold voice who stood over me in the vault. Lord Dredge.
He's here. He's the judge. And he's staring at me with eyes that promise death.
"Thorne Caldwell," Thorne says quietly, his voice cracking. "Son of Marcus Caldwell, merchant of the Fifth Province."
"And how did you know the accused?"
Thorne finally looks at me, and I see something in his eyes that makes my stomach drop. Guilt. Fear. And something else—something that looks like pity.
"Ember was my friend," he says. "My best friend. Since we were children."
"Was?" I whisper.
"Tell the court what you witnessed two weeks ago," Lord Dredge commands.
Thorne takes a deep breath. "I saw Ember's parents practicing illegal memory extraction in their vault. They were pulling memories from people without permission, bottling them, selling them. When I confronted them about it, they—" his voice breaks, "—they threatened my family. Said they'd ruin us if we told anyone."
"LIAR!" The word explodes from my throat. "Thorne, what are you doing? You know that's not true!"
"Order!" The hammer bangs. "One more outburst and you'll be gagged."
Thorne won't look at me now. He stares at the floor as he continues. "That night, the authorities came to investigate. But before they could arrest anyone, the Ashfords set fire to their own house to destroy the evidence. The fire spread. It killed everyone." His voice drops to barely a whisper. "I saw Ember helping them. She was running through the streets with a torch."
The courtroom erupts in shouts and accusations. People are standing, screaming at me, calling me murderer, monster, demon.
But all I can do is stare at Thorne.
"Why?" I mouth the word silently.
For just a second—just one heartbeat—his mask slips. I see real pain cross his face. Real guilt. He mouths something back: "I'm sorry."
Then his face goes blank again.
"Is there anyone who can verify the defendant's character?" Lord Dredge asks, though his tone suggests he already knows the answer.
"I can, your honor."
A woman stands from the crowd, and my heart lifts with desperate hope.
Aunt Celeste. My father's sister. The only family I have left besides Spark.
She'll tell them the truth. She has to.
Aunt Celeste walks to the witness stand, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. She looks at me with such sadness that for a moment, I almost believe she's really crying for me.
"My poor niece," she says, her voice trembling. "After the trauma she experienced, her mind just... broke. She doesn't even remember what she did. The doctors examined her—there are gaps in her memory from the stress. She believes her own lies now."
"No," I whisper. "Aunt Celeste, please—"
"She needs help, not punishment," Aunt Celeste continues, tears streaming down her face. "Please, your honor, show mercy. Send her to the Memory Extraction Facilities where she can be healed. Where the violent memories can be removed and she can start fresh."
The crowd murmurs in agreement. Some even call her compassionate. Merciful.
But I saw it. Just for a second when she looked at me, I saw the same thing I saw in Thorne's eyes.
Guilt.
They're lying. Both of them. But why?
Lord Dredge pretends to think, tapping his fingers on the desk. "The court appreciates such mercy for family," he says slowly. "However, given the severity of the crimes, I believe a more permanent solution is required." He looks directly at me, and his lips curl into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Total memory extraction and rehabilitation. Every memory, every thought, every trace of who she was—erased. Perhaps then she can become a productive member of society."
The room spins. Total extraction means they'll wipe my brain completely. I won't remember Mama or Papa. I won't remember Spark. I won't remember the crystal or that my sister is still alive.
I'll become an empty shell.
"No!" I lunge forward, but the chains hold me back. "You can't do this! Spark is alive—someone took her—I have to find her!"
"Delusions," Aunt Celeste says sadly, shaking her head.
"Take her away," Lord Dredge orders.
Guards grab my arms, hauling me toward a side door. I fight with everything I have, screaming until my voice breaks.
"Thorne! Aunt Celeste! Please! Why are you doing this?"
Neither of them looks at me.
The crowd watches in silence as I'm dragged through the door and down a dark hallway. I can hear my own screams echoing off stone walls.
They throw me into a cell that smells like old blood and fear. The door slams shut with a clang that sounds like death.
I'm alone in the darkness, still chained, bleeding, broken.
The extraction is scheduled for dawn. In less than twelve hours, I'll cease to exist.
I curl up on the cold floor and clutch Mama's crystal—still hidden in my torn dress pocket. They didn't find it during the search. It's the only thing I have left.
"I'm sorry, Spark," I whisper into the darkness. "I tried. I'm so sorry."
Then I hear something.
A soft scraping sound. Metal on stone.
Someone is in here with me.
I freeze, my heart hammering. The cell was empty when they threw me in. I'm sure of it.
"Who's there?" My voice shakes.
A match flares in the darkness.
In the brief flash of light, I see a face I don't recognize. A young woman with violet eyes and a sharp smile, crouching in the corner like a shadow given form.
"Hello, Ember Ashford," she says, her voice smooth as silk and dangerous as poison. "I hear you're looking for the Phantom Collective." She tilts her head. "Lucky for you, we've been looking for you too."
The match dies, plunging us back into darkness.
But her violet eyes seem to glow in the black.
"Now," she whispers, "how would you like to not die tonight? Because I have a very interesting proposal."