Chapter 52: Chapter Fifty-two

Chapter 52

Quinn’s POV

I didn’t like being summoned in the middle of the night. But being summoned during the day was risky. And I didn't have a choice.

It made me think of Brie.

And thinking of Brie made me want to set something on fire.

But the note had been written in Lia’s hand, and if there was one person I couldn’t ignore right now, it was her. Not because I liked her, and not because of what I did, guilt wasn’t the same thing as affection, but because every step she took toward the council’s games brought us both closer to disaster.

The inn’s back room was dim, lit only by a single candle stub. She was already there, cloak still drawn tight around her shoulders.

“You came,” she said, like she’d half-expected me not to.

“You said it was urgent,” I replied, shutting the door behind me. “And if urgent means you’ve dragged me into another one of your reckless errands”

She reached into her pack and dropped a black-ribboned folder onto the table.

I froze.

“Is that”

“His medical file,” she said. “Every healer’s note. Every diagnosis. The progression of the curse.”

I stared at it like it might explode. “You stole it?”

“I borrowed it,” she corrected, but there was no humor in her tone. “Read it.”

“I’m not touching that.”

She pushed it closer. “Quinn, you said you needed proof. This is it.”

I hesitated, then pulled the ribbon loose. The first page nearly made my stomach turn, not from blood, but from the cold efficiency of the handwriting.

Stage Four. Estimated survival window: two weeks.

I let out a slow breath. “You realize if anyone knows you have this, it’s over.”

“I know.” Her voice was tight. “But if we can get it in front of the elders”

“They’ll shred it and pretend it doesn’t exist,” I cut in. “Unless we make sure it’s shown to the right people first.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And you know how to do that?”

“I know how to make people talk,” I said. “The trick is making sure they don’t realize they’re saying the wrong thing until it’s too late.”

She leaned forward, her gaze sharp. “Then help me.”

“You’re asking me to choose between survival and” I stopped myself, glancing at the folder again. “Brie will kill me if she finds out I’m involved. I've gone against her a lot of times now.”

“She’ll kill you anyway,” Lia said quietly, “if Edgar dies and the council finds someone else to pin the blame on. You’ve worked for her long enough to know she doesn’t keep loose ends. You know her more than I do.”

I hated that she was right. She was always right.

“What’s your plan?” I asked.

Her shoulders eased, just a fraction. “We leaked the timeline. Not the whole file, just enough to make the council panic. Enough to make them think their chosen replacement won’t be ready in time. Then they’ll have to keep Edgar in place, at least until they figure out a new strategy.”

“And you think you can slip that in without the healers realizing it’s missing?”

“I put it back tomorrow morning,” she said. “No one checks the Stage Four notes unless they’re treating him directly.”

I leaned back, weighing it. “You realize this buys time, but it doesn’t stop the vote. And once the vote happens…”

“I’ll worry about that when we get there,” she said.

Her certainty made something ugly twist in my chest. Not jealousy, not exactly. More like resentment at the fact she could still believe in winning when I’d stopped years ago.

I closed the folder and pushed it back toward her. “Fine. I’ll get the right ears to hear it. But you do exactly as I say from here on out.”

Her lips curved into something that was almost a smile. “You sound like Edgar.”

I scowled. “Don’t insult me.”

We worked out the details in low voices, the candle burning lower with every exchange. I’d plant the information with one of the less loyal elders, someone who owed me more than they feared Brie. Lia would slip the folder back into the healer’s archive before dawn.

It was a dangerous dance, and one misstep would ruin us both.

When we finally stood, she hesitated at the door. “Quinn… thank you.”

I shrugged. “Don’t thank me until this works. And if it doesn’t…”

She didn’t let me finish. “Then we both burn,” she said, and slipped out into the night.

As I watched her go, the folder’s image burned into my mind, one line standing out above all others.

Two weeks.

If we were going to pull this off, it wouldn’t be enough to buy time.

We’d have to rewrite the ending entirely.