“The Lock of Lament,” Io said, finally turning. Her gaze fell on the key, and for the first time, something flickered across her face. Hunger. “You stole it from the Sunken Vault.”
For a long moment, she simply looked at him. Then Io did something unprecedented. She laughed—a short, rusty sound, like a bell cracking after years of silence. mistreci io
“Yes?”
Io did not turn from the window. Her reflection in the dark glass was a ghost—sharp cheekbones, eyes the color of tarnished silver, lips pressed into a line that had never once smiled for him. She wore a gown of deep emerald that pooled at her feet like liquid shadow. “The Lock of Lament,” Io said, finally turning
She closed her hand around the key, then reached out with the other and cupped his jaw. Her thumb traced the scar beneath his eye—a mark from the night he’d first sworn himself to her. “You stole it from the Sunken Vault
“I am not a charity, Elias. I am a broker.” Her voice was low, a cello string wound too tight. “You’ve come to pay?”
“You owe,” she said. It was not a question.