The police archive lay buried beneath three levels of dust and silence.
 Edrick moved between rusted iron shelves and folders that reeked of mold and secrets.

He found it.

A faded dossier, edges worn:
 "Incident – Torvendark Sanctuary Fire – Year XV Before the Collapse."

He opened it. Black-and-white photographs. Faces warped by time and smoke.

And among them… he recognized one.

Inspector Renner. Younger, but unmistakable.
 Next to him: a masked figure.

White. Blank.

The same mask seen in the crypt.

Edrick whispered—
 as if to hold onto a thought that was already fleeing:

“The Harlequin changes faces…
 but never leaves the stage.”

Lira was elsewhere. Deep in the underground library, the book from Eliah open before her:

“The Masks of the Inverted Vow.”

She flipped pages inscribed in three languages.
 Some of them, she didn’t remember ever learning.
 But she understood every word.

The Council of Twelve was more than a cult.
 It was a living prison.

A cage built to block the crossing between worlds.

Its members wore masks to remain unrecognized—even by themselves.

But one of them… betrayed the vow.

And in the margins of the text, an annotation in shaking handwriting:

There was a thirteenth seat.
 Never recorded.
 Never remembered.
 Never found.

Lira ran a trembling hand through her white hair.
 The pages pulsed beneath her fingers.

“There was a thirteenth seat,” she murmured.
 “And it was mine.”

In a shadowed wing of the library, Eliah was waiting.

Lira faced him with sharp eyes. No hesitation.

“Why did you give me this book?”

Eliah gave a bitter smile. One tooth missing. Or perhaps a piece of himself.

“Because the traitor…
 isn’t who you think.”

“It’s the one who stopped believing they were.”

He paused.

Then added:

“You were there, Lira.
 As a child.
 Masked.
 One of the thirteen.
 But something… was taken from you.”

His words pierced her like needles.

Lira turned and left.

Without saying a word.

Meanwhile, Edrick returned to the crypt.

It wasn’t empty anymore.

Fresh blood.
 Still wet.

A white mask, cracked, abandoned in the center of the room.

On the wall: a phrase scrawled in trembling fingers—

“The Traitor has spoken.
 Now listen to Silence.”

A noise behind him.

A hiss.

A knife.

He dodged by inches.

The blade embedded itself into the twelfth throne, sending shards of stone flying.

Edrick pulled his pistol and turned—

But the corridor was empty.
 The shadow gone.

At his feet, a fresh canvas.

No signature.

It showed Eliah, hanged.

Above him, in red:

“Act VII – The Keeper Lies.”

Edrick closed his eyes.

He already knew what he’d find.

He already knew who was next to die.

And betrayal… was no longer just a threat.

It had already begun.