Avis watches me like he's waiting for a reaction. Like he expects me to recoil, to call him a murderer, a liar, something. But I only stare back, my thoughts a tangle of questions with no clear answer.
He was like me. Hunted. Hiding. Trapped in a world that wanted him dead.
But he had done something I never dared to do.
He had fought back.
The candlelight flickers between us, throwing shadows across his face. "Say something."
I don't know what he wants me to say. That I understand? That I forgive him? That I trust him?
I don't. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
But I do believe him.
"You killed your father," I say, not a question, just a fact.
His jaw tightens. "Yes."
"Because he would have killed you first?"
He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. "He would have done worse."
I think of my own father. Of the way he whispered my name in warning the last time I saw him, the urgency in his voice when he told me to run. To stay hidden.
And I think of the man who found me in the alley. The one who knew what I was the second he saw me.
If Avis is telling the truth, if he really was raised in the heart of the kingdom that hunts people like us, then how has he survived this long? How has he hidden himself?
And more importantly, why is he risking everything to help me?
I shift my weight, arms still crossed. "You still wear the king's crest."
Something flickers in his eyes. "I do."
"Why?"
He leans back against the table, arms folding over his chest, mirroring my stance. "Because it keeps me alive. Because it keeps others like us alive."
"Others," I echo.
His silence is answer enough.
I swallow hard. "How many?"
His gaze doesn't waver. "More than you think. Less than there should be."
The words settle over me, heavy. My whole life, I've felt like a mistake. An anomaly. A secret too dangerous to exist. But if there are others if there have always been others
Then what else have they lied about?
I shake my head. "If that's true, then why haven't we heard of them? Why is magic still hunted? Still feared?"
Avis' expression darkens. "Because the king wants it that way."
I snort. "The king wants a lot of things. That doesn't explain why you why we haven't fought back."
His fingers drum against his arm, a restless rhythm. "Because fighting back the wrong way means losing everything."
I hate how reasonable that sounds.
I hate that he's probably right.
For years, I told myself that magic was a death sentence. That the only way to survive was to stay small, to stay unseen. But Avis Selby has walked straight into the lion's den and lived to tell the tale.
And now, for some reason, he's standing in front of me, asking me to believe him.
"You said you brought me here to tell me the truth," I say. "So tell me."
Avis watches me for a long moment, something unreadable behind his eyes. Then he turns, crossing the room, and pulls a worn piece of parchment from the shelf. He spreads it across the table.
A map. But not just any map.
The inked lines twist and weave like veins, marking hidden paths, secret corridors beneath the city. At the center, an emblem I recognize instantly.
The king's seal.
And below it, carved into the paper like a wound, a single word.
Sanctuary
I glance up at him, my heart hammering. "What is this?"
Avis' voice is quiet.
"The reason you're still alive."