“Ask him which Aren he closed outside.”

No one moved.

Another drop of Nilan’s blood struck the stone.

Thira did not look at his hand.

She looked at his face.

“Don’t answer that.”

The man wearing Aren’s face smiled.

“Still protecting him.”

“No.”

Thira kept her voice level.

“I’m protecting the boundary.”

The smile faded slightly.

Nilan breathed through the pain but remained where he was.

Edrin stood rigid between them.

“I need to know.”

“I know.”

“He may have decided which version of my brother survived.”

“And forcing his closing memory into mine could reopen the returning place.”

Edrin’s jaw tightened.

Thira hated making him choose between grief and danger.

She hated even more that the Citadel had taught all of them to believe one always had to defeat the other.

She turned to Nilan.

“I’m going to ask something smaller.”

He nodded once.

“Did you know which Aren was which when you closed it?”

The scar in his palm tightened.

For one terrible moment, Thira thought it would split wider.

Then Nilan said,

“No.”

Edrin stared at him.

Mara stopped breathing.

Even the man at the edge of the street became still.

Thira watched Nilan carefully.

“That answer is safe?”

“Safe enough.”

“Were you guessing?”

“No.”

“Then what did you choose?”

His expression changed.

The scar opened again.

Thira almost stopped him.

Nilan spoke before she could.

“I chose to close the path.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“I know.”

“What made you choose?”

Silence.

Then—

“You were falling.”

The words struck Thira with physical weight.

Not memory.

Something simpler.

Something worse.

Nilan did not look away.

“The returning place had started pulling you through. Both Arens were shouting. I could no longer tell which voice belonged to which one.”

Edrin went pale.

“You closed it without knowing?”

Nilan looked at him.

“Yes.”

The man wearing Aren’s face laughed softly.

“There.”

No one joined him.

He looked at Thira.

“He did not choose between us.”

Then at Nilan.

“He chose you.”

Thira’s black seam warmed.

Nilan said nothing.

She refused to let his silence become an answer for him.

“You chose to stop the threshold.”

“Yes.”

“Because I was being pulled through.”

“Yes.”

“That was the choice.”

The man tilted his head.

“If that makes you feel better.”

“It makes it accurate.”

Something close to approval crossed Mara’s face.

Edrin had no room for accuracy.

“Which one remained outside?”

Nilan closed his eyes.

“I don’t know.”

“You must.”

“I don’t.”

“You were there.”

“So was Thira. She lost six months.”

The words hurt.

They were still true.

Edrin stepped backward as though distance might make the answer easier to carry.

The man at the edge of the street watched him.

“You’re asking the wrong question, little brother.”

Edrin’s head snapped up.

“Don’t call me that.”

The man’s expression softened.

“You never liked it when I did.”

“That proves nothing.”

“No.”

For the first time, the man agreed without resistance.

“A memory can be stolen.”

Thira went cold.

He looked at her.

“A face can be remembered incorrectly.”

Then at Nilan.

“A choice is harder.”

Thira’s attention sharpened.

That was almost exactly what she had learned as a Binder.

Words could be copied.

Voices could be worn.

Memory could be severed, altered, carried by someone else.

But choice left a different kind of trace.

“Whose choice?” she asked.

The man smiled.

“His.”

Nilan’s scar pulsed.

Thira stepped farther away.

Inside Mara’s house, the little bronze bell gave one quiet note.

Mara looked toward it.

“Keep the distance.”

“I am.”

“Not only with your feet.”

Thira understood.

Curiosity could align them as easily as proximity.

She looked back at the man.

“If you are Aren, tell me something that does not come from memory.”

He laughed.

“What else is a person made of?”

“Choice.”

His smile disappeared.

Good.

Thira continued.

“You came out of the water this morning. You lit the lamp. You asked whether I came alone.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because that was the agreement.”

“What agreement?”

“The one you made with me.”

Mara stiffened.

Thira noticed.

“You know about that?”

Mara answered before the man could.

“No.”

Thira turned to her.

“You told me I left instructions.”

“You did.”

“Did any of them mention an agreement with Aren?”

“No.”

The man watched Mara with faint amusement.

“She was never told everything.”

“Neither was I.”

“You told yourself exactly enough.”

Thira hated how much he sounded like the woman she had once been.

“What was the agreement?”

“If you returned alone, I would show you what Nilan closed away.”

Nilan’s scar opened.

Thira immediately raised one hand.

“Don’t.”

He stayed silent.

The man continued.

“If you returned with him, I would wait.”

“For what?”

“For the two halves to find each other.”

The little bell rang again.

Mara swore.

Thira stepped another pace away from Nilan.

The pressure between them eased.

“You want the threshold open.”

“I want the truth complete.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“No,” he said. “It rarely is.”

Edrin stared at him.

“Tell me something only Aren and I knew.”

Thira turned.

“Edrin—”

“No. If memory is all I have, then I will use it.”

The man looked at him.

Edrin’s voice roughened.

“The winter Father broke his hand. What did you tell everyone happened?”

The answer came immediately.

“That he fell repairing the roof.”

Edrin’s face changed.

“And what actually happened?”

“You locked the goat inside his room.”

For half a heartbeat, no one spoke.

Then Edrin whispered,

“It kicked him.”

The man smiled.

“You cried harder than he did.”

Edrin’s eyes filled.

Thira felt nothing resembling certainty.

A thing made from Aren’s memories would know all of that.

A thing that had remembered Aren perfectly might know it better than Aren himself.

The man seemed to read the doubt on her face.

“You still don’t believe me.”

“No.”

“Good.”

That unsettled her more than anger would have.

“Why good?”

“Because the last time you believed too quickly.”

Thira’s mark went cold.

Mara moved one step closer.

“Do not follow him.”

The man glanced toward the harbor.

“I’m not asking her to.”

“Then what do you want?”

He looked at Thira again.

“You want to know which Aren remained in this world when Nilan closed the returning place.”

“Yes.”

“There is one memory that can show you.”

Nilan’s face hardened.

“Don’t.”

Thira looked at him.

His scar had not opened.

That meant the warning itself was safe.

“Where?”

The man’s gaze moved toward the burned slope above the harbor.

Past the ruined houses.

Toward the old net house.

Mara went white.

“No.”

Thira understood before he said it.

“The Dry Room.”

The man nodded.

Mara stepped between Thira and the uphill path.

“You wrote that if the harbor lamp was already burning, I was not to take you there.”

“I know.”

“Then we are not going.”

The man smiled.

“Ask her why.”

Thira looked at Mara.

The woman’s silence stretched too long.

“Mara.”

“I don’t know.”

“That is not true.”

“I know the instruction. I do not know the reason.”

The man looked almost pleased.

“Past Thira did.”

Thira hated hearing herself divided that way.

“What is in the Dry Room?”

Mara answered.

“Pieces you chose to leave.”

The man corrected her.

“One piece.”

Silence.

Thira’s pulse changed.

“One piece of what?”

He looked first at Nilan.

Then Edrin.

Finally back at her.

“The closing.”

Nilan’s scar split open.

Blood ran across his fingers.

Thira immediately stepped farther away before the memories could answer each other.

“That belongs to Nilan.”

“No.”

The man’s voice had become quiet.

“That is why you left it there.”

Thira stared at him.

He took one slow step backward toward the harbor.

“You separated part of the closing from him before his missing hour was removed.”

Edrin went still.

“I removed that hour.”

“Yes, little brother.”

Edrin flinched.

The man continued.

“But not all of the closing went with it.”

Thira’s black seam burned.

Mara whispered,

“No.”

The man looked toward the old net house.

“The memory that can show which Aren remained outside when Nilan closed the path is still inside that room.”

Thira thought of the instruction on the back of her portrait.

IF THE HARBOR LAMP IS ALREADY BURNING WHEN I RETURN, DO NOT TAKE ME TO THE DRY ROOM.

The man smiled.

“And three years ago, you were so afraid of finding that memory again that you left yourself an order never to go there if I returned.”

He stepped toward the road leading down to the water.

Then stopped.

“One question, Thira.”

She said nothing.

His eyes held hers.

“If I am the thing you were afraid would return—”

His gaze shifted toward the Dry Room.

“—why were you more afraid of that memory than of me?”