Lowe didn’t know why, but he’d never quite hit it off with any of Arebella’s friends.

Well, that wasn’t strictly true. He knew precisely why that was. It was because every single one of them terrified the life out of him, and it made him appallingly awkward in their company. There was probably a moment in his life—back when he was young and foolish—when he hadn’t been utterly intimidated by smart, independent, competent women. But if there was, it was long gone, buried under layers of insecurity and whatever passed for his bravado these days. He sensed he could search his Grid View for the rest of his life but still never found it.

Karolen wasn’t quite the scariest of the pack—at least she’d acknowledged his existence since his Classtration—but even if he hadn’t known the devastating carnage a pissed-off was capable of, he still wouldn’t have chosen to further involve her in this mess. Still, as Latham had pointed out, she was literally the only person with any memory of what had occurred when Delphina had met her untimely end. So, reluctantly, Lowe had called in a few favours—he preferred to think of it that way, rather than admitting he’d asked his girlfriend to help him out—and had thus found himself met by a very irate at the gates of Soar Museum on this bright and shining morning.

Now, standing in the chilly, echoing expanse of the Great Hall, Lowe was glad he had.

For his part, Gral seemed determined to turn Karolen’s outburst into some kind of intellectual sparring match. He raised an eyebrow, giving her a look one might reserve for someone who had just announced they believed in unicorns.

“I know that’s what you think you saw, my dear,” Gral continued, “but all the formal reports I have read on the event make it very clear that the poor girl was crushed to death rather than . . . anything more fanciful, so let's stay within the realms of reality if we can.”

“So you calling me a liar?” Karolen shot back.

“No, not at all.” Gral’s best condescending smile stretched once again across his face. “I merely think the trauma of the event has exacerbated matters in your mind. Memory is a tricky thing, as I’m sure you’re well aware. I’ve read several studies that suggest high-stress situations can—”

“—distort the perception of reality? Right, because, of course, us silly little girls tend to overreact in high-stress situations!”

Lowe winced. He didn’t know how Gral was managing it, but he seemed to have a supernatural talent for saying precisely the wrong thing at exactly the worst moment. So much so, Lowe was starting to wonder if he might not be doing it on purpose. Mind you, there were easier ways to sabotage this re-enactment than annoying an primed to explode.

Gral was continuing in using his conversational shovel. “I would never imply such a thing, Ms. Mehin. I’m merely suggesting that we consider the possibility that your recollection may not align perfectly with the facts.” He glanced towards Preece, who was standing awkwardly by the sarcophagus, trying very hard to blend into the background. “After all, no one else present remembers the event.”

Karolen’s eyes flashed at that. “No one else remembers the event because someone had everyone wipe their memories. Convenient, isn’t it? Let’s all just forget the part where a young woman was melted alive before the stone fell on her.”

“Melted. Hmmm,” Gral said, moving the word around in his mouth as if it tasted bitter. “That’s an exceptionally colourful description, my dear, but not one supported by the official autopsy conducted by Lant.”

Lowe felt the tension crackle like an at a light show. Karolen wasn’t just angry—she was livid, and Gral’s dismissive manner was exacerbating things. “So, it is your opinion that I am being hysterical, and my memory is incorrect?”

“It is your contention that the was melted. Now that is an intriguing word choice. Are you talking about some form of magical reaction? Or perhaps—”

“You weren’t there. You didn’t see it!”

"And neither did anyone else, Ms Mehin. Thus, I am inclined to trust the evidence rather than one angry young lady's opinion."

Preece cleared his throat softly. It was a sound that should have barely registered in the Hall, but it caught everyone’s attention. All eyes turned his way, making the poor man blush and look like he wanted to crawl into the sarcophagus and pull the lid over himself. Lowe couldn’t blame him. If the got any angrier, he’d be looking to join him.

“She's telling the truth."

Gral rolled his eyes and sighed theatrically. "I am sure we all appreciate the chivalry, sir, but how can you possibly know that?"

I . . . I didn’t wipe my memory,” Preece’s voice was quiet, and yet was strong enough for everyone to hear it. There was a pause, long and heavy, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks.

“I knew it!” Karolen’s voice raised several octaves. Gral, for once, said nothing, though Lowe could see the faintest flicker of surprise on the lawyer’s face.

“I . . . I didn’t wipe my memory,” Preece repeated, a little louder this time, as if he needed to convince himself as much as the others. “I was supposed to. Everyone was supposed to. Ms Culloden made sure of that, had the mana potions in place and everything. But I didn’t go through with it.”

The weight of his admission hung in the air. Lowe could almost feel the cogs turning in his head. This was big. Huge. It immediately justified all the shit he was sure Nuroon was going to have flung his way for going ahead with this re-enactment. But the fact that there was someone else who had managed to avoid the memory wipe, who had info on the first death changed everything.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Why not?” he asked, careful not to spook the older man.

Preece shifted nervously, clearly uncomfortable with the attention, but pushed forward anyway. “Because . . . because I knew something was wrong. I couldn’t bring myself to forget. Not when . . . not after what I saw.”

Lowe watched Karolen’s expression shift as she stepped towards Preece, her posture slightly softening as if coaxing him to reveal more. “And what exactly did you see?” she asked quietly.

The hesitated, his gaze flicking between Lowe, Karolen, and Gral, before settling back on Karolen. “I . . . I saw Delphina. I saw what happened to her before the stone fell.”

Gral seemed to realise the importance of the moment, standing up straighter, his previously smug expression tinged with alarm.

“And?” Karolen pressed gently, her eyes locked on Preece. “What did you see?” Lowe had a moment of annoyance that she seemed to be leading the questioning but then decided to get over himself. Who did it matter was the one to get the information.

Preece swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “She was . . . she was eaten alive.”

Lowe couldn’t help himself. “And did you see what ate her?”

Preece’s face paled. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out.

Gral seized the moment to try to get control of the conversation. “This is all very interesting, Mr. Preece. But, if I may, this all seems very convenient. If what you say is true, why didn’t you come forward with this information sooner? Why wait until now to make this revelation?”

Preece’s gaze flicked to Gral, and for the first time, Lowe saw something else in his expression—guilt. “I didn’t want to remember,” Preece admitted. “But then I found that I couldn’t forget.”

The confession hung in the air like the heavy scent of something rotten, and Lowe didn’t miss the flicker of fear that darted through the man’s eyes. It wasn’t just that he hadn’t wiped his memory—there was something more, something worse, that he was holding back. Lowe could feel it in the way the man's voice trembled, the way he couldn’t quite look anyone in the eye for more than a second. Whatever Preece had witnessed that day was still clawing at him from the inside. He needed to get this off his chest.

“Mr. Preece,” Gral said, the words oozing out of him. “You say you didn’t want to remember, yet you chose not to go through with the wipe. That’s a rather significant decision to make, don’t you think? And one that is not very consistent. Especially given the . . . pressures of the situation. Come now, what exactly did you see? You said the poor girl was ‘eaten’, but if this is true, we need specifics. What caused it? What did you witness that was so horrific you felt compelled to keep your memory intact? Or are you just seeking a little attention for yourself in the middle of this debacle?”

Preece shifted, his discomfort palpable, but Karolen stepped forward. She knew how to read people—how to find a way to get them talking—and she wasn’t about to let Gral bully the , you don’t have to protect anyone anymore. If you know something, it’s time to tell us. You saw what happened to Delphina before the stone fell. What caused it?”

Preece looked at her, then at Lowe, his eyes pleading for some kind of escape. But there was no way out. Not now.

“It was . . . it was the armour.”

Lowe’s breath caught in his throat. Armour? That was new. His Grid View flickered, trying to make sense of the new information, but the connections didn’t align. No one had mentioned anything about armour in any of his hours of interviews. “What armour?”

“The sarcophagus . . . the first one we opened. The one from earlier in the day? It wasn’t empty. Martha was sure we'd find the same thing in the second if we looked. She pushed us to move, opening it up to the top of the schedule. I don’t think she told the Director, though.”

Lowe’s pulse quickened, but it was the who spoke first. “What was inside?”

Preece looked at the floor, his voice shaking. “A Dreadnaught.”

Gral's expression hardened, obviously wishing the Director was here to deal with these revelations. “You’re saying that you and these other , the ones that have died, opened a sarcophagus containing a Dreadnaught? And it was awake?”

Preece shook his head. “No, the first one, the one in the sarcophagus we opened in the morning, was stable. It was moved somewhere, but I don't know where. And we didn’t know what it was at first. It was Martha . . . Culloden who told us it was important. She was very excited."

“And the who died?” Lowe's voice was sharp, cutting through the rising dread in the room. “What happened to her?”

Preece’s face creased, the memory clearly still raw. “She got into the sarcophagus and touched it. Martha warned us in the morning not to make contact with it; to assess its condition without waking it. But the moment Delphina made contact, something happened. The Dreadnaught... reacted. It expanded, covering her in some sort of slime and began feeding.”

“So, Delphina didn’t die from the stone falling on her. She was already dead before that?” There was a sense of finality to Karolen’s voice. Lowe thought it sounded a little bit like vindication.

“The stone falling . . . it was just a coincidence. Or it was Kregg who did it. He was the one who kept going on and on about the blasted stone. But Delphina was dead long before it crushed her. The Dreadnaught . . . it killed her the moment she touched it. It ate her. And then it vanished.”

Lowe felt a shiver run down his spine. All this time, they had been operating under the assumption that Delphina’s death was the result of an accident, a tragic miscalculation. But now, the truth was coming to light, and it was fucking dark.

“And what about Harker?” he asked. “Do you know what happened to him? What about Kregg? Do you know where Martha Culloden is?”

But Preece was shaking his head. "Harker was worried about something after Delphina died. But I don't know what happened to him. It could have been the Dreadnaught, I suppose."

Gral’s voice broke the silence, his smugness replaced by something more measured. “Mr Preece, for absolute clarity, are you suggesting that Martha Culloden was aware of the presence of these Dreadnaughts before you and your colleagues opened the first sarcophagus?”

Preece hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Yes. She knew. She knew exactly what they were. She . . . she didn’t tell us, but I could tell. She was excited. She wanted us to wake them up.”

Lowe exchanged a glance with Karolen. This wasn’t just about some museum exhibit gone wrong. However, before he could speak, they were interrupted by a distant rumble echoing through the museum. It was low, almost imperceptible, but it sent a chill down his spine.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his voice tight with apprehension.

Karolen’s gaze shifted, her eyes narrowing. “No idea. But we need to find out.”